


Fate be a Lady

by Shortsandramblings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Change of Fate, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lysa is first-born, Shireen has the Tully look, Slow Burn, Stannis is first-born, Timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 213,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6317590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortsandramblings/pseuds/Shortsandramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis Baratheon was the first son of Lord Steffon Baratheon and his wife Cassana Estermont. After his betrothal with the Lady Lyanna Stark abruptly ended - in not the best of ways - the Crown Prince as well as Lord Stark and Lord Tully proposed he marry the Tully bride that had been promised to the Stark heir, as a hopeful way to make amends. In the fifth year of their marriage, Lady Lysa Baratheon died quite suddenly, after only giving him one daughter.</p><p>Everything from then on became a matter for the History books...</p><p>... that is until the Gods decide to change his destiny with a small twist of fate.</p><p>- - -</p><p><em>‘Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.’</em> - Henry Miller</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I - Prologue - Notes from History

**Author's Note:**

> I cant stop getting more and more ideas... its a sickness I'm sure...
> 
> Bare with me for this story, hopefully you will like and find not too far-fetched/ strange...

 

 

 

**PART I - STORM'S END**

 

 

 

**=**

  

 

 

Excerpts from _A History of the Dragon Age and the War of Ice and Fire_ , by Magee Marwyn, published in 1980 AC:

 

_‘... For those who have studied the Dragon Age, none can deny that Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands at the turn of the Third Century has always been a key subject of controversy. He was no doubt an integral part of not only the War of the Seven Kingdoms but also had a essential role in crushing the Greyjoy Rebellion as well as in the War of Ice and Fire._

_Born in 264AC, he was the first born child of Cassana Estermont and Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and head of House Baratheon. It was transcribed in the Book of Lineage of the time that he had been born with the Baratheon look: large boy with a full head of black hair and dark blue eyes._

_He was a scant year older than his brother, Robert, who was born in 265 AC. ...’_

_[...]_

‘... _It is known that he was four the first time his lord father brought him and his first brother to court. Many speculate, however, that Lord Steffon Baratheon tried to keep his sons from King’s Landing as much as possible, as King Aerys II grew more and more suspicious and unstable as his Queen-sister continued to have several miscarriages and stillbirths...’_

_[...]_

_‘... Not long after his seventh birthday, Stannis Baratheon was sent to be fostered in the Eyrie. Along with him was also fostered Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Lord Rickard Stark’s second son. A great friendship is known to have grown between the two boys, as well as a close relationship to their ward Lord Jon Arryn, who had no children of his own. It has been confirmed that during the period in which he was fostered, Stannis still visited Storm's End on multiple occasions, including his youngest brother, Renly Baratheon’s, birth. ...’_

_[...]_

_‘... At the age of fourteen, during a tourney at Storm's End, Stannis Baratheon was knighted. During this same tourney, he was defeated by the legendary knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. ...’_

_[...]_

_‘... Not three months after Stannis Baratheon received his knighthood, King Aerys II Targaryen sent his cousin, Lord Steffon, on a mission to Volantis to find a bride for the Crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. It has been confirmed in writing by the Storm’s End maester at the time that both Stannis and his two brothers were present at Storm's End for their parents expected to return, after the mission proved a failure. In the Storm End annals, Maester Cressen added that when the ship came into sight of Storm's End, the elder two sons witnessed as a sea-storm in Shipbreaker Bay sank the ship their parents were on. With his father's death, Stannis became the Lord of Storm's End. ...’_

_[...]_

_‘... Not one to shy away from duty, his actions and accomplishments as a young lord, as well as in later years his part during the War of the Seven Kingdoms and during the Greyjoy Rebellion marked him time and time again as not only a more than capable Lord of the Stormlands but also to be an accomplished commander, sailor, and warrior. He was also known to have a great sense of duty and justice. Although a great tactician and taking great care of his House, he was also known to not be one for the politics of court, well-known to have hated the frivolities and falsities of Kings Landing. ...’_

_[ ...]_

_‘... There have of course been many thoughts on his relationships with his brothers, especially with his brother Ser Robert Baratheon._

_However a lot more speculation and focus has always surrounded the subject of his betrothals, his marriage and the question of his heir. Countless historians have tried to understand, and give an answer to the fact that the lord never remarried after his wife died quite suddenly in the fifth year of their marriage, even though he had no male heir, the Lady Lysa of House Tully* having only given him one daughter._

_Few have suggested that he never remarried because of his love for his first wife. However this belief has been largely disputed, going so far as to suggest that there actually was a cold relationship between his Tully wife and himself. A much larger group – lead by renown Dragon Age historian, Aemon Snow - speculate that Lord Baratheon never got over his lost love: Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, which made him less inclined to another political marriage._

_Several historians actually found it surprising how the known the friendship between the second Stark brother and Lord Baratheon lasted even after his first betrothal ended quite abruptly and not in the best of lights. However the two men’s friendship proved to have lasted through such hardships, to the point which Lord Eddard Stark named his first son and heir 'Stann'** and was sent to squire at Storm’s End._...’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about this story and about Stannis in this story:
> 
> Since in this story Stannis was born first, he doesn’t grow up in the shadow of Robert and, even though he still has a great sense of justice and duty, he is not as focused on slights as in the books/TV show. Also, his friendship with Eddard and being ward in the Eyrie, fostered by Jon Arryn, helped make him more amenable to others as he was growing up. Still has a close relationship with Maester Cressen – especially once he became Lord of Storm’s End (at the age of 14).
> 
> * - Will be mentioned/developed more later in the story but in this alternate universe, Lysa is not only older than Catelyn and Edmure but is by quite a few years (Edmure is more or less the same age, but Catelyn is closer to her brother’s age than her sister’s.
> 
> ** - For those interested, 'Stann' is an actual name: Old English origin, shortened version of 'Stanford' (Also: seems kind of obvious but just wanted to confirm, Robb Stark = Stann Stark of this story)


	2. PART I, Chapter 1 - His Lady Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 289 AC – Storm’s End. Where it all began...

 

 

 

 **289 AC** **– Storm’s End**

 

 

They were sitting in the library. Stannis was going over the ledgers at the desk, whilst his wife sat with her lady-in-waiting, both sowing something, mostly likely for the babe that was soon to arrive.

A _son_ if Maester Cressen was to be believed from his last exam.

Personally, Stannis would prefer being in his solar, working, or with his men. However, he had already spent time this morning in the courtyard, training with the other men, and, as the birth drew closer, he felt it was his duty to spend more time with his wife; Lysa already missed carried one babe and the birth of their daughter had strained her greatly. Sitting near her, making sure she carried on well, was only a small task in comparison to her hopefully finally giving him his heir.

 

 

He was about to pick up and read over the parchment sent from Evenfall Hall when the tranquillity was suddenly broken by his wife coughing several times.

 

Unfortunately the disturbance came anew soon after with another round of coughs.

Frowning, this time in concern, Stannis looked up from his desk to his wife and her companion. Truthfully, he was more worried for the child his wife was carrying than for the woman herself.

Lysa’s attention was focused on her drink, looking at it without taking another sip to relieve her throat. After another cough escaped her lips, she looked up at Lady Jayne Bracken, before once more back to the goblet in her hand, unable to take her gaze from it.

From where he was, Stannis heard her murmur to the other lady, “You switched the cups?”

“Of course my lady: I thought that both your lord husband and yourself would want you to have the less cloudy, more pleasing drink. I did not want your ladyship drinking the dregs.”

At the reply, Lysa’s face turned ashen, as she continued to cough, this time more violently. All the more concerned, Stannis quickly rose from his desk. As he moved closer to the other side of the room, towards both the door and where the ladies where sitting, Stannis heard Lysa growl to the other lady through her coughs,

“Y-you... ruined _everything_.”

The door having been reached, Stannis threw it open and bellowed for Maester Cressen to be brought. In the distance, he could people scrambling. However Stannis gave them none of his attention: it was fully on his wife and unborn child. Hurrying to where Lysa was, he noted that she was now more lying on her divan than sitting, clearly sweating, clutching her swollen belly. Lady Bracken seemed to have frozen next to her.

When she felt his presence, Lysa looked up at Stannis and whispered, even as she continued to cough, “ _The Strangler_.”

Stannis blinked, mouth gaping. “What?...”

When the words truly registered, he started shaking his head. “ _No_. No. That is not possible.” - _Who would do such a thing? Who would dare to poison my wife_?

And yet, as if to prove him wrong, Lysa moaned in pain. She turned away from his gaze, pressing her face into his chest gripping his jerkin, the sounds becoming whimpers. When she looked back at him, her face taut with fear, her eyes pleading. “Please. You _must_ save me. _Please_....”

She continued to cough. Her pale hand still clutching his jerkin, the other one returned to her stomach as her body persisted to shake. “... The babe... y-you _must_ save my babe...”

Stannis could not think of anything else to do but take her cold hand in his, as her breathing quickened as a loud sob escaped her.

“Everything is _ruined_...”

The breathing more laboured, her throat violently clenched, and her entire body tightened, head thrown back. Stannis, every muscle in his body constricting with panic, shook her shoulders.

“ _Lysa_!”

She took a loud, gasping breath, then relaxed for a moment. Stannis wiped sweat from her brow with shaking fingers. His voice broke as he hoped like he had not hoped since he had been four-and-ten, looking out towards Shipbreaker’s Bay, as _Windproud_ battled the waves and winds, willing himself to believe untruths.

“Lysa, you must be well... Perhaps the babe is coming early?”

She shook her head in denial. Her breathing came out more and more heavy. Drawing breath was clearly an effort, yet she still spoke, spite coming into her voice, even in its weakened state.

“The drink... was meant f-for... y- _you_.”

A cold shill ran through Stannis at the words. “What are you saying?”

Her voice and body continued to shake as she replied, “My daughter is not of your seed.” Again, she convulsed violently, a white foam gathering at the corners of her mouth. Relaxing slightly, her shaking hand passed over to her prominent belly. “Nor is the one in my womb.”

Stannis studied her face, before looking down to the swelling of her body. He swallowed and gripped her hand. His voice roughened, low, deep,... _pleading,_ “You are out of your head... A sprite from the Seven Hells has overtaken your mind.”

But even as he said the words, even as he tried to convince himself she was not herself, Stannis could see the truth in her eyes: the poisoned drink had been meant for _him_. His grip on her tightened, his voice was a soft growl, “ _Why_?”

Her face twisted, several coughs wretched out of her.

“He was supposed to save me... from you... I love _him_... I would have given him everything... was going to be with _him_... he promised... t-take me away from _you_... they all tried to take him from me: father, you... even C-Catelyn... he was suppose to be _mine_.”

And then the shaking stopped.

His wife, eyes open and staring at nothing, lay dead in his arms.

Rage and despair rising inside him, Stannis shook her, willing her to cough once more, to say another word, to do _something_...

 

It felt like for the longest time there was no sound but the wind outside, hitting against the panes of glass.

 

“ _NO!!!_ ”

 

He clutched her to him and shook her once more.

“Live. Live, curse you. _Live_!”

But she didn’t move. His wife was dead.

His son was dead.

 

His _son_.

Mind buzzing, Stannis recalled a moon turn ago Maester Cressen saying that he suspected the babe being a boy based on the shape and sink of his wife’s stomach.

But now there would be no boy. No son. No heir.

 

Stannis’ head pounded, his body became numb. He was half aware of an unusual wetness coming from his eyes, clouding his sight, damping his cheeks. Body shaking, he placed his wife down on the divan before slowly standing and backing away.

His head, heavy, bobbed up and down as dizziness overtook him. Air finally filled his lungs and he threw his head back, and howled like a madman. He clenched his hands in his hair and, heart pounding, every muscle constricting to the point of pain, Stannis turned and grabbed the long bench from against the wall. With a yell, he heaved it into the fireplace and watched as pieces of heavy wood, ashes, and smoke burst into the air.

He grabbed a chair and swung it across the room. In the background he was barely aware of a female cry, of others moving. He paid them no mind. Instead, his hands searched for something else to seize and tear down.

 

The destruction continued until he felt a strong hand gripped his shoulder firmly – “ _STANNIS!!!_ ”

 

Breathing hard, his chest hurting, Stannis turned to find Eddard at his side, staring at him in a mix of concern and uncertainty.

Grey eyes met dark blue ones.

He paused. Stopped whatever action his body had been midway through.

He took a large gulp of air...

... and let it out...

And another...

...

And another...

 

As his rage gradually calmed, Stannis realised he was standing in the middle of the room. Most of the furniture was either knocked on their side, or - for the less fortunate - had been broken, in his rage. At the doorway, a few of his knights stood, with a few more beyond, out in the hall. The servants had run off. Lady Jayne Bracken was still in the room, kneeling next to the body, weeping.

Chest still rising and falling, Stannis' eyes fell on the two people slowly and silently entering the room: the septa who had followed his wife for Riverrun to Storm’s End, and Cressen. As they shifted the lady to the side and looked down at the body, Stannis turned away, not being able to look at _her_.

Eddard continued to stand next to him, looking more at Stannis than the dead body or the crying lady-in-waiting, but he did not speak. For not the first time Stannis was relieved for his friend’s sombre presence, helping him properly think on the situation. - Because he _needed_ to _think._ This was not the time to lose his senses. Anger would help in no way. Madness would only make matters worse.

 

The first question that came to mind, rage still in him. _Who provided_ her _the poison_? The second followed close behind. _Who turned_ her _against me_? Stannis was certain that _she_ could not have acted on her own.

 _No_. Another growl of fury escaped his clenched jaw. Stannis knew that it was her _lover_ who had provided her with the poison. Stannis’ teeth ground together, and a guttural sound escaped his mouth as he recalled _her_ words. The babe had not been his? That’s what _she_ had said. Even... even _Shireen_ might not be of _his_?

As if the Gods wanted to taunt him further, it was at the moment that he heard a soft, child voice call out.

“ _Mama_?”

At the call, Stannis swiftly turned to see his daughter of three years, lingering in the passageway with her nurse. Pain twisted his guts: she should not be here. She should not see her mother like this. Nor could he look at her a moment longer; not with these cursed thoughts running through his mind. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, his voice hollow – from the betrayal or from the yelling, he wasn’t sure.

“Take the child to the nursery.”

He ignored the girl’s cries of protest, knowing it was for the best.

 

After another moment passed, he soon realised that he could not stay in the room either. He needed to think, and that was not likely to happen with his traitorous wife’s body, still very much showing the son she had stolen from him, in his view.

He turned to his uncle and commanded, “Calm Lady Jayne Bracken and bring her to the solar”, before moving to the door and out of the room himself, without a glance to his dead wife. Only the shuffle of heavy footsteps as well as the sounds of woman cries behind him confirmed that not only Eddard was trailing him but his orders were being followed.

 

-

 

Once inside the lord’s solar, he sunk into his chair and closed his eyes.

Silence reigned in the room.

Stannis forced his mind to think further on the events as rationally as possible. He could feel Eddard’s stare on him. That was, until the door finally opened once more, and in entered his Uncle Lomas Estermont as well as the still weeping, but thankfully more silently, Lady Jayne Bracken.

Without pause, Stannis stared at the woman and demanded, “Give me the name of her lover.”

Rigid with terror, the chit gaped, “M-my lord?”

Teeth gritting, trying to control the fury rising in him once more, Stannis repeated, “Your lady’s _lover_ : you shall give me _his name_.”

The woman trembled, shook her head, as her eyes widened in fear, “No, my lord. Lysa... S-she would never play you false.”

Stannis’ jaw clenched further, but forced himself to remain seated, not giving into the desire to reach for her and shake her. “She admitted as much, my lady. Do not doubt that I will find him. And I _will_ have justice. The matter would be resolved faster if you give his name.”

Unfortunately the blasted woman just started sobbing harder once more, pleading that she knew nothing of her lady’s lover.

Realising that he would get nothing from the woman, Stannis had her quickly removed from the room, to be put in her chambers.

 

 

It was only when the door closed and the sounds of weeping were mere murmurs that Eddard broke the silence,

“Lord Hoster Tully will need to be informed.”

There was only a small pause before Stannis agreed solemnly, “He will, in due time.”

Even though he had raised the woman, Stannis doubted Lord Tully had anything to do with his daughter’s actions today. If Lysa’s father had been someone else, Stannis might have suspected him, but Lord Hoster Tully: he lived his family words ‘ _Family, Duty, Honour_ ’. - On the other hand, there was no honour in what his daughter had done. Lord Tully needed to not only be informed of his daughter’s death but also of her damning actions: his daughter had betrayed her vows, betrayed her family, her House and their words and had not only let herself be seduced by another man but had meant to kill her lord husband, and instead had ended up killing herself as well as his unborn heir.

 

The more he continued to think about it, the more Stannis became more and more convinced that the attempt had been planned by someone else, not by his wife. She had been a mere tool.

Stannis was sure of it and said as much to Eddard. - His wife and her lover could have chosen a different poison: ‘ _Tears of Lys_ ’ would have made it look like Stannis had died in his sleep. He could have died in a ‘ _hunting accident_ ’ if his drink could have been tainted with strong-wine or nightshade, who were more common, or even Basilisk venom. Even if some might have thought that Stannis – or in the actual case Lysa – had choked, most, including Maester Cressen would have recognised ‘ _the Strangler_ ’; someone had planned to create discord with his death.

With the continued distressing news from both the capital as well as the rest of the realm: troubling rumours of the king’s ever-growing madness, the prince increasing his supporters, as well as the other Great Houses increasing their own alliances: there were definitely several important consequences to Stannis’ death.

The fact that the Stormlands was one of the Great Houses that, for the most part, stayed out of the politics of court as much as possible, even with his blood links to the Targaryens and his marriage to a Tully, as well as his close location to the capital, could not be over looked. It was not vanity but truth when Stannis stated that he would be a deciding ally or foe when war broke out.

Stannis knew that the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale hoped an alliance with him and the Stormlands. He hadn’t been naive to not realise the reason why he had been presented with Hoster Tully’s first daughter, who had until then been betrothed to Brandon Stark, the Northern heir. She had been a way of appeasement, in hope to keep an alliance between the four kingdoms, even after his original betrothed had runaway with the Dragon Prince.

His marriage had actually mostly stopped a conflict from breaking out rather than actually create an alliance with the other kingdoms. – Stannis knew that even Eddard still constantly worried that Stannis still felt slighted by not having married Lyanna Stark. Although part of him was still quite piqued by the insult, six years later, most of him was actually secretly relieved to not have married the she-wolf, after she proved to be quite a wilful and brazen bride... That with the fact that Robert had seemed abnormally interested in the girl when he had met her, and Stannis had had no interest in a bride his own brother constantly lusted over.

\- _That is_ , until it was revealed that the bride he had been given in her stead had taken a lover and had tried to kill him.

 

Not long into their discussion his uncle came back, obviously having left the Riverland-lady with someone else.

 

The question of who would have benefitted from his death, or at least want him dead, was brought forth.

Stannis was self-assured enough to know the Stormlands would have been greatly weakened with his death. Someone had set out to not only possible impede on the shaky alliances he had with the North and the Riverlands but would have weaken the Stormlands with his death.

Robert was a good warrior, yes, but he had _fighting_ in his blood, not _ruling_. Being short-tempered, his brother would more likely seek out a fight than try to find answers; use more his muscle over his mind. Moreover, Stannis doubted many would feel well-guided with his whore-mongering brother as not only Lord of Storm’s End but Lord of the Stormlands.

As for Renly, he was only a boy of two-and-ten. Stannis knew all too well the difficulties of being a young lord, and truthfully did not think his younger brother would be able to live up to the task. Not to mention that most of his Houses would be deem him far too green; his spurs not yet truly tested, nor had he been knighted yet.

... As for his heir: if his wife had given him a son, the boy would have been a babe-lord, and there would have most likely been a conflict as to whom would raise the infant.

 

Of course then there were also those who were not on the best of terms with either Stannis or Storm’s End.

There was still not only Dornishmen and a great part of the Stormlands but even the other great Houses that, even several years later, still felt slighted about the Crown Prince taking a second wife, and of the choice of the maiden. Those in his own House were still angered with Stannis’ ‘ _lack of a reaction_ ’. Then there were those, including the Great Lion, Tywin Lannister, which had not only been angered by their daughter not being chosen as the second dragon-bride but by Stannis marrying Lady Lysa Tully.

And then there was all the other ways Stannis was not on good terms with certain lords; - too many to even start that possible list.

 

As they continued to speculate the solar’s door opened once more, Maester Cressen joining them. – Stannis couldn’t help but be thankful that the older man did not mention his wife or the babe.

Instead the maester sat and started giving his own council as the conversation progressed, soon turning to the matter of who would most likely have been blamed.

The blame could have be pointed to his brother Robert. Many knew Stannis considered Eddard Stark more a brother than Robert, to the point that there was a significant acknowledged tension between him and his brother. – He had actually grown up with Eddard, and they shared common values, where as Robert continued to shun on his duties as a son of a Great House and interested spent most of his time gallivanting around Westeros, drinking, hunting and wenching.

Stannis himself gave into the idea that Robert was behind the attempt on his life but dismissed just as quickly: as strained as his relationship was with his brother, Stannis could not give credence to Robert wanting Stannis dead or wanting the responsibilities of being Lord of Storm’s End. Nor could Stannis believe his brother seducing his wife; Lysa always had quite a low opinion of his brother, especially with Robert’s shameful actions the night of Stannis’ wedding.

Thinking of his betrothal and wedding to the woman, Stannis then thought that the blame could be given to the Starks: selling on the idea of a fall out between Stannis and Eddard – Eddard being the one to have allegedly poisoned him - going on the fact that Stannis had not married Lyanna Stark and the other that Stannis had ‘ _taken - stolen’_ the Stark heir’s - Eddard’s older brother - intended.

Some might even put blame on Dorne: some of their anger falling on Stannis for his lack of a true reaction about Lyanna Stark’s betrayal, as well as blaming him in some way on the fact that it had been _his_ betrothed that had runaway with the crown prince, taking him from their princess. Let’s not forget that the death would have been by poison – a known weapon of the Dornish, and many of the Cornish were short-tempered, including their more than well-known second prince.

 

 

The first decision to be finally decided upon was that it would be too dangerous to take the matter to the king – especially not knowing how the king would react in his current state – or even make the matter known outside of those who had witnessed the events of the day. His wife’s attempt on his life would be kept from silent. Only the Lord Tully, Lord Stark and Lord Arryn would be informed of how his wife truly died. As for the rest of the Realm: it would be said that his wife died going into labour prematurely, losing the babe at the same time.

Then there was the matter that he still needed an heir – a _true_ heir, _not_ Robert.... _definitely_ **_not_** Robert.

As well as the fact that the Stormland’s possible alliance with the Riverlands - and in consequence with the North as well - was on even shakier ground. – Lord Tully would have to find a way to not only secure the fragile alliance but deal with the repercussion for his daughter’s treachery.

                                                     

After some time, the four men deliberated that Stannis would demand Tully his other daughter. – Silently, Stannis hoped the second would be more honourable and faithful than the first, and would not have murderous inclinations.

It decided that ravens would be too dangerous to send: the issue was too grave and these times were too dangerous to wonder who would read the missive. – No. Instead a personal messenger –Ser Lomas Estermont - would go personally to Riverrun, with a small group of men, to give Stannis’ message directly to Lord Hoster Tully. It was also settled that another messenger would need to be sent to Jon Arryn as well as Eddard’s father: Ser Davos Seaworth* would go to the Eyrie, whilst Ser Rolland Storm would go till Winterfell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Though there was not Robert’s Rebellion in this version of events, Davos still aided Stannis in some way which lead to him becoming a knight under Stannis’ service, as well as Stannis trusting him.


	3. PART I, Chapter 2 - A Change of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1989 AC - Storm’s End. ... And when it all went to hay-wire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok readers... bare with me, please: I promise I wasn’t high on anything when I had this idea/ wrote this story... this is a serious story... really really hope this ‘twist’ is ok... (fingers crossed).

 

 

\- : -

 

_“There is nothing more dangerous than bored Gods.”*_

 

\- : -

 

 

 

**1989 AC – The Stormlands, near Storm’s End**

 

 

“ _Argghhh_! Mother-fudgsicle-stick!!!”

 

 _\- It’s official: Arya is an ass!!_... _A Big. Fat. Ass that I’m going to kill... That is, once she actually comes out of her room for air, from over-exposure to sex_...

 

Sansa groaned and cursed once more as she felt her foot throb from the step and twist that had occurred moments ago.

Noticing a large bolder rock, she hopped to it, making sure not to put too much pressure of her right foot.

Finally sitting on the top, she slowly took off her shoe and sock and looked over her foot, before gradually turning in a circular motion, at the ankle. – Relief ran through her as she realised it was actually only a small sprain.

 _Still going to kill Arya though_...

 

After letting out a small sigh, Sansa re-covered her right foot with both sock and boot, making sure to keep the boot loose, not wanting it to get cold from the still-cool spring air but then again wanting the foot to breathe some whilst the sprain calmed down.

Foot dealt with, she started thinking about her cousin once more. - _Sure_... One can totally understand someone for wanting to spend time with their boyfriend without their twin older brothers or their father blaring down on them with one of the family hunting rifles, but that does _not_ mean lying to your cousin, saying you wanted to go on a bonding-cross-country-trip with her and then end up shaking up with your boyfriend half the time as if you were two bunnies high on cocaine!

The fact that they were loud ‘cocaine-high bunnies’ did not help either. - _Urgggh_...

Arya and her had barely been a day into their Spring Break cousin-bonding trip, Sansa to get away from all the drama of university – mainly get away from fuck-face Joffrey Lannister – and Arya wanting to have a first taste of the ‘ _realm outside of the North’_ before going to university next year, when Arya had so wonderfully informed her that Gendry might be tagging along. That was four days ago. Since then, Arya and Gendry had decided the best way to make the most of Uncle Creg and cousins Jon and Stann being on the other side of Westeros, in Winterfell, was by having very long fuck-fest-sessions in their hostel room, whilst Sansa would try and make herself scarce, before they decided that they had enough ‘exercise’ for one morning and the three of them would go to the next point of their trip.

Today, having had enough of wasting her mornings waiting for the humpty-dumpty one and two to join the living, Sansa had left the hostel near Griffin Town and had started towards their next destination, because _she_ actually wanted to visit and see the sights, whilst the sun was still up and they were still open.

 

Taking in a long breath of cool air, Sansa looked out: - _well, might as well enjoy the view at least_...

And the scenery in front of her definitely did not disappoint: from the large boulder she was sitting on, Sansa could see the next destination of the trip: Storm’s End.

Deciding this was a good place as any for a small pause, after having walked for a good three hours, Sansa took out her water bottle and a snack-bar from her back-pack, before silently looking back over the panorama.

Even from here, Sansa could see how the marvellous and forbidding the old Dragon Age castle was; just like Grand-pa Ben had described in his stories. Looking at the fortress, Sansa was not surprised that several Starks had come here to be trained as squires during the Dragon Age, nor that the castle had held under siege for... _a year? or was it two?_... Frowning Sansa tried to remember Grand-Pa’s tales as well as her history classes from school.

Truthfully she should probably know more of her History: Professor Sand would go on about knowing your History was essential in understanding the fashions, fabrics and patterns that appeared in Westeros and Essos through time. Then there was the History knowledge she needed to know for her literature courses. And all that did even compare with the constant reminders that her cousins and Sansa should ‘ _be proud of their ancestors and their History_ ’, since they were ‘ _direct descendants_ ’ to the lords who had fought in all those wars, all those years ago - _even_ against the zombie-people from beyond the Wall - as both Grand-Pa Ben and Uncle Cregan liked to repeat.

 

 

She had been sitting on her rock, having finished her oats-bar, simply enjoying the view for a good twenty minutes when the sound of laughter broke the silence. Looking to her left, the presence of four men still a distance away confirmed further that Sansa was no longer alone.

A tingling running down her back and scar, suddenly made Sansa aware of the remoteness of the location. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach hollow. From her own personal past, as well as her less than common features, Sansa had never been a fan of strangers, but sitting on a big gray rock, in the middle of nowhere, at least a hour and a half walk to the next point of true civilisation... the rolling grass in front of her, leading to the small forest, didn’t calm her sudden unease. What had seemed so beautiful and interesting only moments ago, now appeared desolate, threatening and ... _stupid_.

From the corner of her eye, she followed the men’s movement. Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that they headed in her direction. Sansa tried to convince herself everything was _fine_... nothing was wrong...: they were probably just friendly locals who had noticed her and just wanted to chat... or maybe flirt. Nevertheless her heart continued to hammer against her ribs, Sansa feeling a sense of danger, as they continued to steadily move her way. She hadn’t seen another soul or even any cars until the men showed up. - From the self-defence classes Arya had insisted they take, Serio, the instructor, had told them to always trust their instincts: right now, hers were screaming to _run_.

 

She was definitely regretting deciding to head to out before Arya and Gendry now...

 

Trying not to make any sudden movements that would possibly trigger them in some way, Sansa pulled her rucksack closer to her and pulled out her cell-phone. – _Ohhh crap... no freeking signal_!

Unfortunately, looking up from her phone back to the men, that was when one of them decided to also look in return and waved at her. The friendly gesture didn’t make her feel safe, far from it: she felt marked. Hunted. Her heart pounded against her chest, her scar started throbbing.

Her phone clutched in her hand, her knuckles going white, Sansa quickly studied the area. Nothing but fields, and a path leading to small forest in the distance. Not a soul in sight to possibly help her. The men moved steadily closer. Was she being foolish? Paranoid? Heat suddenly flooded her face. What if the guys were simply trying to help? --- Or perhaps these were their favourite stomping grounds and they simply wanted to say hello? She could be making a total and complete idiot of herself.

She felt like an idiot. A scared one. All she knew for certain, was she couldn’t wait around like an easy target. She’d rather avoid them, and look like a fool in front of strangers and be safe, than stand there like an idiot and get robbed... _or worse_...

She quickly stuffed her water bottle and her useless phone back in her backpack. Looking inside the bag she quickly saw the pepper spray she had bought at the start of the trip, but not her father’s old gun... before she let out a frustrated groan when she remembered that her father’s gun was at the very bottom of the bag. – _Well that was smart_.

Her scar had tingled as an unnecessary reminder as to why she hated guns, when she had started looking for it. Yet, in this very moment, Sansa had to acknowledge Uncle Creg might have been right in insisting she take the gun with her. - If only she hadn’t put it at the bottom of her rut sack, under all her other ton of stuff...

Thinking against spending the next twenty minutes removing all her stuff and clothes from her bag for a gun that she had only shot twice on a shooting range, Sansa quickly dug out her pepper spray, closed her pack and hoisted on her shoulders, tightened it. Zipping up her wind breaker jacket, pulling the hood on her head (– as if it would make her invisible or something... -) she started heading at a brusque pace towards for the cluster of trees - away from the men - hoping there would be a few houses behind them... If she were mistaken about their intentions, the men would hopefully realize they had scared her and would leave her alone. If she wasn’t... well then... – _umm, well best not think about that... just keep walking quickly for the trees_...

With her heart hammering, she was almost too scared and embarrassed to look back. Would they follow? Leave? Head toward the group of large bolder rocks and hang out? She hoped they would get the hint; realize they had frightened her, act like gentlemen, and leave. She reminded herself that even if she were wrong, she would most likely never see these men again, so if she completely humiliated herself, it didn’t matter. - _Better safe than sorry._

Letting her jacket sleeve fall down over the pepper spray in her hand, Sansa finally chanced a glance over a shoulder. The men were still walking toward the boulders, but only talking and checking in her direction, not following. Relief flooded her but, still uneasy, she didn’t break stride. They were more than welcome to climb, picnic, or play king of the mountain on the rock, just as long as they left her alone and let her go her own way.

Still walking at a quick pace, Sansa rose over the slight hill, getting a better view of the woods in the process. Unfortunately from here, she still had no hint to what might be behind the trees. Maybe she would find someone on the other side?... A small residential area or... a group of twenty cops would be nice.

She glanced at the men again and gasped when she noticed that they had now veered in her direction, and were walking towards her, _fast_.

Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, before thudding painfully in her chest. The throbbing in her back only grew.

One of the men called out to her: “Hey, wait up, pretty lady.”

She didn’t answer, only shook her head. Every one of them gazed straight at her now, and fear trilled through her. Not giving to shits about embarrassment anymore, she started running. She glanced over a shoulder to see them chasing her! – _Crap! Crap! Crap_!

As her own pace quicken, breathing grew harder, the wind blowing against her face, her hood dropping from the exersion, Sansa could have sworn she heard laughter... Panic and fear flooded her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, her feet slipped on the grassy slope. Could she make it to the woods? Surely she would find help there. For all she knew, there was a city or something on the other side... Or there could be absolutely nothing at all...

Her anxiety level spiked as she continued to rush down the fields. There were a few trees, bushes and then the path curving towards and through the woods still in the distance. But nothing and no one seemed to offer shelter till then. She continued forward, flying across the bumpy ground, the woods her only likely goal. - _Please, someone be there... Please,please, please... please, someone see what is happening and help_...

If only it weren’t so fucking far away.

 

She glanced over her shoulder and stifled a scream. She wasn’t going to make it.

Pushing herself, Sansa ran faster, the hills and grass gently rising and falling under her feet, as fear overwhelmed her to the point of numbness, an unexpected blessing. Her strides evened out and became almost effortless, and visually, everything sharpened into focus—each clump of grass jumped over, each random flower or weed crushed beneath her shoes—every step a dreamlike, measured movement.

Exhilaration surged through her veins, and her mind sharpened to the narrow focus of a straight line to the forest. She could do this. She could make it. She pumped her arms to increase speed. She couldn’t hear anything other than her own harsh breathing and the dry slash of grass as it buzzed her shoes. She dared to believe she was outdistancing the men. Or perhaps they had given up the chase? Ignoring the sharp pain growing in her side, she finally chanced a glance over her shoulder.

_CRAAPPP!_

They’d gained on her. One man, his strides even and his face set with determination, easily jumped a patch of dirty and kept right on running, his pace deliberate and eating the distance between them. Disbelief had her half-tripping on a weed, her body lunging forward, her backpack slipping to one side, knocking her slightly off balance. Fear came rushing back. She pulled herself forward by clutching at grass until she regained her pace, but her gait was now frantic, clumsy. How could this be happening? She scrambled up a small hill and ran the few steps down the slope, nearing the edge of the woods.

She could hardly breathe as laughter once more sounded behind her – _close_. She could help but let out a small panicked sound from her throat. - _They are enjoying this! How can they be enjoying this_?

 

Just as she reached the first trees, Sansa felt something – _or someone_ \- suddenly shove her forward. A scream escaped her as she failed to regain her balance in time, falling hard on her knees. She quickly scrambled up and turned to face them, backing away.

The men, breathing hard, faces filled with triumph, smiled as she halted against a tree, her heart hammering, her chest hurting, her scar and back vibrating, her eyes darting for escape.

 

Pressing a hand to her chest, trying to breathe somewhat normally, she sucked in air as she asked weakly: “W-what do you want?... Why are you doing this?”

The men ignored her question as they slowly surrounded her, one on either side, one directly in front of her, the last hanging a bit behind the one closest to her. One to the side looked from Sansa to the one right in front of her:

“You were right Ram – she’s prettier up close: shiny red hair... and those eyes...”

‘ _Ram’_ chuckled as he continued to look directly at her, making her scar tinge once more. Looking into his dark eyes, all her possible previous hopes slipped away. Those eyes, the colour of tree-bark, were pitiless, ruthless, only showing one intent: _harm_. Her hand tightened to the point of pain on the can of pepper spray, still thankfully hidden by the long sleeve of her wind-breaker. - Could it disable all four of them?...

Under the very possible threat of incoming danger, Sansa started to force herself to remember some of the self defence moves from Serio’s class. However part of her regrettably realised that it probably wouldn’t help all that much against four of them... one maybe... two by some miracle but four... With her level of ‘skills’, Sansa really did not think she would be able to ‘ _jam her palm into one’s nose’_ or trying to ‘ _knock the wind out of them by punching one in Solar plexus_ ’ or ‘ _kicking one in the groin’_ for all four of them, without them doing something to her first...

The sweat on her body chilled, her heart continued its relentless thumping, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs, but her chin lifted defiantly and she straightened. Come what may, she wouldn’t go down without a fight, no cowering. If they planned to hurt her, they weren’t going to come away unscathed. Her hand tightened on the pepper spray. She could hurt them. She could leave DNA under her fingernails to convict these men later... Of course, if they were searching for DNA under her nails, chances were she’d be dead, so it wouldn’t personally do her much good...

Once more she cursed her stupidity; leaving the hostel without Arya and Gendry... gun in the bottom of her bag.... not throwing everything else out of her bag and taking out the gun...

 

She swallowed audibly, before trying to find her voice once more: “What do you want?”

The clear leader, the man in front of her, took a swaggering step forward, a smirk spreading on his face. His voice was deep as he finally replied: “That there is an interesting question, ain’t it, lads?”

The others chuckled at the question.

His face bent toward hers and as his smile widened: “What do we want?... Well, what are you offering?”

His friends laughed again, low and ugly.

Sansa choked back a sob and lifted a trembling hand to ward him off. “What are you going to do?”

As the men laughed, their leader’s gaze dropped briefly to her chest, and there was no mistaking the lascivious intent. Lifting a hand, he finally replied:

“Well, for a start, pretty girl, that gold ring hanging from your neck looks real nice. Why don’t you give us a look-see then, and, after, we’ll talk about _anything else_ you may have that we might be _wanting_.”

Her free hand flew to the ring, as she stuttered, pleading even more: “P-please, it was my father’s ring. The only thing I have left of him...” (– _well, apart from the freeking gun at the bottom of my bag!_ -) “...Y-you can’t have it.”

His smirk turned uglier: “Bad luck that, because actually, I can.”

 

... And then several things happened:

Sansa heard the others snickering once more...

The leader – ‘ _Ram_ ’ - knocked her hand away and grabbed the ring in his fist, scratching the skin over her collar bond at the same time...

Sansa shrieked, sucked in a breath, and sprayed him full in the face with a red stream of pepper spray...

She barely concentrated on his screams, him falling back, dropped to his knees yelling, holding his face, gasping. She even ignored the pinch of the chain against her neck. No, her attention followed the ring fly through the air, the gold flashing, before it landed on a patch of grass to the side.

As the downed man screamed and ordered his friends: “Get her!” She made a dive for the ring, snatched it up, palm-punched the one about to grab her straight up his nose and ran as fast as she could through the trees, trying to find cover.

 

Running like a mad woman, she shoved the ring onto her middle finger, scraping the skin and cutting herself in the process. With blood dripping onto the grass, she continued forward, weaving through the trees, expecting to feel a hand or two quickly dragging her down, but the men hadn’t grabbed her yet, and she didn’t dare waste a second to look back.

Sansa’s eyes burned and dizziness overwhelmed her. She didn’t remember tripping on anything, but fell for what seemed a long distance. Her knee landed hard on a rock, the pain so intense her vision blacked for a moment. Fighting the darkness, she crawled, leaned against a tree, not noticing that it had a face carved on it, and tried to pull herself up.

Unfortunately, as she took another step, she felt every hair on her body standing on end. An eerie electrical charge filled the air, along with the distinctive scent of iron. All the surrounding noises of the men, wind, trees rustling going on around her faded...

She felt as if the whole of the realm had shifted on itself as a powerful current lurched her forward. It took all of her strength to hold on to the straps of her bag, as she fought against the invisible force pressing in on her from all sides...

There was a loud clap making her ears pop, before a blur of colours flashed...

Nausea and pressure made it hard to breathe...

She gasped for air as pain ripped through her...

Her scar burned in her back...

 

By the Old Gods, she was being torn apart.

 

_I’m going to die! I don’t want to die!_

 

And then blackness edged its way in around her as she struggled to remain conscious. But there was no use: the darkness pulled her under.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * – Unknown, Mythology of the Greek Gods


	4. PART I, Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual encounter

 

**289 AC - The Stormlands, near Storm’s End**

 

 

If Stannis was certain of one thing from this excursion it was that Robert was a halfwit.

 

For over three moons he had be restless, a mix of apprehensiveness and impatience running through him, ever since his wife’s death. First there had been the wait from both his uncle and men arriving at the Riverlands as well as the Eyrie and Winterfell. Then there was the unease of the possible response from the different lords.

Of course by the time Ser Loams Estermont had reached Riverrun, Westeros had already been informed of his wife’s death. Stannis couldn’t imagine how exactly Tully would have reacted to his daughter dying and then being informed, some weeks later, to the true reason for her death. Part of him was more than relieved that it had been his uncle and not him had delivered the news and Stannis’ terms, and not him personally.

He was not fearful of Tully’s responses to the report and demands, though he could assume they would not have been pleasant. No, what Stannis was more than aware of was it most likely wouldn’t have helped if he had in some way insulted the rest of the Tully family for Lysa’s actions. – Both Eddard and Ser Davos had told him on several occasions that he could be blunt to the point of pain, the directness of his truths and statements being harmful more than anything. So, as Eddard put it, him telling a grieving father what he actually thought of his daughter would definitely not have helped in keeping their alliance.

Then finally ravens arrived, first from Lord Arryn, then from Lord Tully and Lord Stark, confirming that they had received Stannis’ missive. However the condensed correspondence being sent between the different keeps, with only a few lines and no direct statements and decisions to do with the more important issues left Stannis more than frustrated. Especially when he continued to receive less than pleasant news from the rest of realm, and certain houses had already started trusting their daughters on him... – _Only two moon turns since my wife has allegedly died in the birthing chamber: have they no decency!_

 

It was the last series of ravens that were troubling both his days and nights now. Riverrun had sent a parchment: **‘ _It is my hope that there will be another strong stag within the year’_** , before another came from Winterfell with similar words.

_\- Surely that means that both Lord Tully and Lord Stark have acquiesced to my demand for a second Tully bride... no?_

 

With these there was now the waiting on his new bride to arrive.

Even the subject of his new betrothal Stannis was between worried and frustrated. He knew even less about this bride than what he had known about Lysa when she had been thrust upon him as means of reparation. At least with his first betrothal with Lyanna Stark, Eddard would talk at lengths about his sister still in Winterfell, and then Stannis had actually met her at Harrenhal before they were to marry... Well it later proved that they never married because of Harrenhal and a certain dragon, but, at least, he had met the she-wolf long before he was supposed to marry her. With Lysa, it was clear that Tully and Stark was worried that Stannis would agree to marry Lady Cersei Lannister, that they had quite literally thrust the Northern heir’s betrothed on him; he had only even met the girl a day before their wedding.

And now, Stannis knew even less about his third betrothed, second Tully, than he had known about the other two. He himself barely remembered a youthful girl with similar hair to Lysa throwing flower petals on the floor at his wedding. Eddard did know some: although he had never met her properly – he as well did not count Stannis’ wedding - his brother, Brandon, had described the girl as sweet, caring, possibly a little shy, but with the sense of duty and honour that her family words were built on. - Stannis could only hope the last was true...

Maester Cressen knew some as well. Unfortunately what the old man told him had done nothing to calm his nerves, because in there lay the other problem: the fact that she was still a _child_ : she would be turning four-and-ten in two moon – barely half a year older than Renly... He was nearly _twice_ her age: his five-and-twenty to her three-and-ten*... It did not matter that Stannis had been assured that she had flowered, at that age one was still a _child_. Even, both Hoster Tully and the Starks had thought it best that they wait till the girl was sixteen to marry Brandon Stark. He could only assume that the fact that he had nearly been poisoned by her sister had changed a few decisions...

And of course there was also the added risk that she or the babe or both die if she got pregnant at such a young age... There was always a risk that a woman died during pregnancy, however at such a tender age, he was certain the risk would e greater. - How many betrothals and wives would Stannis have to go through before getting his heir!

 

 

So here he was, in the Rainwood with several of men from Storm’s End, on a _hunt_.

So restless, the castle so stuffy, Stannis had decided to go on a hunt to clear his mind; that is what Robert would have done...

... And it had done _nothing_ to ease his thoughts.

Well, he had felt some sort of exhilaration, as the wind had blown in his face, the trees rustling around him, when they had given chase to the large buck. Then there had been the certain satisfaction when sinking his spear into the stag.

And yet, he still felt _restless_.

 

 

The group was riding back, having killed two boars and the stag, when suddenly Stannis’ thought – and Ser Richard Horpe tasteless jape about something or another - were interrupted by the sound of hooves. The thought that someone was coming towards them, at quite a fast gallop, was only further confirmed when they heard a voice calling his name.

His apprehension changed to irritation when he recognised first the gelding then the rider: _Renly_. – Renly who he had specifically ordered to stay at the keep. With such uncertain times Stannis had forbidden the lad to join them on outings; it was far too dangerous, and he could not risk a possible attack on two of the remaining three Baratheons.

However, noting the look of concern and distress on his younger brother’s face as he called out to them, Stannis urged his own mount forward to reach Renly all the more quickly. Cleary out of breath, his brother exhaled loudly as he spoke:

“ _Stannis_... someone...’s been attacked... found the body... by the tree with tears... Please... you need to ...f-follow me...”

The words barely out of his mouth he turned his horse back around and galloped away from Stannis.

 

Stannis frowned, further irritated by the news – of course someone would be attacked on his own lands _now_... A villager attacked was all he needed to be added to all his other problems. Teeth clenched, Stannis rode out, his men behind him, following his brother through the trees.

 

It took a while longer; nearing the edge of the true forest to an additional cluster bit of trees, men and horses finally came across several others Stannis recognised, Ser Cortnay Penrose with two of his squires, as when a fourth Stannis did not recognise. The sight of the boys made him grind his teeth: it seemed that both Renly and Ser Cortnay had defied his directive. All the same, Stannis thought it would be best to first resolve the current issue, before chastising his brother and wards.

Slowing his mount down to a trot, Stannis advanced further, noting that all four were either talking amongst each other of looking over something... a lying body; obviously the person who had been attacked. And as Renly had stated, the body was lying next to the old heart tree.

Noticing the tree, Stannis remembered when Eddard had first come to Storm’s End and Stannis being discomfited that his home did not have a Godswood. Of course Stannis for himself did not have time for the Gods but he knew that Eddard was fond of sitting for long moments with his tree Gods, feeling at peace when he would visit the Godswood in the Eyrie, even far from his home. – Stannis had soon fixed the oversight, but until then his Northern friend had carved a heart tree into one of the trees, in this small group of trees preceding the Rainwood.

At the sight, Stannis wondered if the person had sought refuge with the gods – clearly they did not know that the gods rarely answered the payer of mere mortals.

Closer, Stannis finally had a clear view of the body lying on the ground in an awkward position. Leaning forward in his saddle, he couldn’t help but glare down at the figure.

Although in strange garments and the face was partially covered by a hood, Stannis soon realised it was a woman... girl more likely.

If she had been trying to pass for a lad, she failed miserably. Indeed, although the odd tunic seemed better at concealing her upper body, there could be little doubt from the bizarre breeches that she was wearing: the blue material** formed to her figure and in no way hid a beautiful set of legs, without actually showing any skin. Part of Stannis was not surprised that she had been attacked: showing such assets would definitely pull the interests and bring out the lust of the certain men.

However, giving the girl a once over, his ire only rose as he noticed the scratches marking on her face and clothes, confirming that she had been attacked and possibly abused on _his_ lands, barely more than a half-hour ride from _his_ keep. Between the ever growing rumours of the king’s madness, the prince increasing his support, Robert gallivanting around Westeros, and Stannis’ own problems and expectations – mainly the waiting of his bride - it was a wonder Stannis found any sleep. Was a small amount of peace and quiet too much to yearn for? – This was just another complication he didn’t need or want.

 

Ser Richard Horpe grumbled behind him: “What in the Seven Hells is this?”

Arstan Selmy countered: “She looks far more like a star fallen from the Seven Heavens than a creature from the Seven Hells.”

“Who could she be?”

At the question from Eddard, Stannis wondered if she was possibly one of the villagers, from the town surrounding Storm’s End, who had gone to the woods for berries and such...?

 

His tone broaching no argument, Stannis directed his question to the four by the body: “What has happened here?... who attacked the girl?”

Renly spoke: “We were with Ser Cortnay in the yard, when Cedric came and told us that he had found her like this, Stannis; just lying there awkwardly against the tree.”

Most likely fearing reproach, Andrew Estermont added in a soft whisper: “Only Lord Renly touched her...”

Feeling Stannis’ gaze turn to him, the man – _Cedric_ – spoke: “Me-lord... I did not touch the girl... only found her under the tree... I ‘ad been walkin’ in the fields when I saw the tree was cryin’... so I went to ‘ave a look – that’s when I saw ‘er.”

 

If the peasant did not recognise her, it most likely meant she was not a villager.

Clearly having similar thoughts to his own, Selmy spoke:

“She doesn’t seem to be from around here...”

Eddard gave a nod: “True the clothing is strange but the material barely looks worn, and nothing like a peasant would wear...” there was a small pause before he added in a murmur: “... She’s lovely to look upon... enchanting”, before he most likely realised his words, clearing his throat, his face turned as red.

Stannis heard someone chuckle behind him, but he had acknowledged that his friend was right – for the first part at least - : apart from the recent marks, and the strange clothes her complexion seemed to clean, the material too fine for her to be lowborn. But if that were the case where were her servants and escort? Something was amiss, and it turned his foul mood to pitch.

His men grunted as they contemplated the possibilities, whilst Stannis kept a wary eye on the edge of the forest. The girl’s bruising seemed still fresh proclaiming that her attackers had only left recently.

He was about to dismount, to possibly get a closer look at the girl, when his mount acted before him: Fury stretched his neck to nose the curiosity on the ground. In response to his horses nudging, a delicate hand rose to bat the disturbance away. Then there was a small moan of protest that accompanied the movement – the body clearly regretting her action.

 

**. . .**

 

At the deep voices and then the feeling of something nudging her, unconsciousness was soon replaced by fear as Sansa first thought it was the thugs that had finally caught up with her, and were ready to make her pay for her previous actions. However, when the nudging and voices stopped, she took a few breaths before deciding it best if she opened her eyes.

 

Relief ran through her when the face that was looking down at her was clearly a lot younger than the four men who had attacked her. Looking straight into his eyes, she first thought it was Gendry. Unfortunately, Sansa soon realised that even though this guy had similar blue eyes to Gendry, his whole build was quite different... that and the fact that he seemed younger – a teenager – and that he was wearing really strange clothes.

Obviously noticing that she had opened her eyes, the teenager gave her a small smile as he offered her his hand: “My lady.”

\- _Well it’s good to know some still have manners_...

Even though still very much uncertain, Sansa still took the hand and let herself be pulled to her feet... to then immediately loose balance, and nearly fall back on the ground, being reminded by the weight on her back that she was still wearing her rutsack.

The boy and two others she hadn’t noticed, helped her up, unfortunately taking her bag from her. She was about to protest when Sansa was instead relieved to note they just placed it down beside her.

Awkwardly, she stammered a small: “T-thank you...”

As the boys continued to look at her, Sansa couldn’t help but shift uneasily; ever weary of strangers. Not only to do with what had just nearly occurred with the four men or to do with her scar as a constant reminder of the pains of her past but also the fact that people tended to exclaim about her odd eyes which then sometimes led to further interest and questions she was didn’t like.

 

However it wasn’t the teenagers that finally addressed her. – Nope it was a loud booming voice from behind her:

“Who are you?”

 

At the surprising new person, she swiftly turned around – the motion catching her off balance...

... Her jaw dropped unconsciously at the dramatic image in front of her: there was not one but several big buffy men, dressed in Dragon Age clothes, on horseback looking down at her, and two men to the side also looking at her with clear interest. All possible words left her mind got stuck in her throat. The complete vision was like something out of a history book, or a trailer for a historic drama...

_Whatttt the actual fudge...?_

The effect was grand but her eyes had automatically sought out the biggest out of the lot – sitting on his horse front and centre. Most likely also the one who had asked her the question. Sansa was more than certain she had never seen such a big guy before in her life – and that was with her cousins as well as her uncle and grandfather were quite impressive, well-built men. – Nope, definitely taller and bigger: broad shoulders, dark hair, strong jaw, dark stormy blue eyes, a close cropped beard that gave him a bit of a rugged look... he even had a freaking _sword_ at his hip... the whole masculine package was simply overwhelming. A god descended from the heavens.

 

Unable to keep his gaze for more than a second, she looked back down and around her, trying to make sense of it all. First there was the question of their clothes - all in Dragon Age clothes... just like the teenagers.... that with the fact that they were on horses...

Frowning Sansa tried to remember if there was a festival of some sort or the anniversary of something in the Stormlands this time of year...?... Maybe re-enactment crew?... or men from the set for a film?...

But she was sure she had noticed nothing when she had been running away from the four attackers...

\- _The four attackers_!

Panic building in her once more; she quickly looked around to see if they were still here as well. – _Nope, not here_... at least they were gone...

 

Still very much uncertain, and definitely not looking up at him, Sansa shifted awkwardly:

“Umm... did you scare away those men?... i-if you did: thank you, that... that is greatly appreciated... really don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t showed up... Would...would mind telling me where I could find a phone booth or somewhere I could call...?”

 

However even as she asked the question Sansa realised that Arya and Gendry might have left the hostel by now. – _That’s just great_...

“Umm... actually... on second thought would you mind giving me a ride to Storm’s End...?”

At the question, she couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the use of the word ‘ _ride’_ , because that was ultimately what she would be doing: “...ha... literally ‘ _riding’_ a horse..."

However none of the men seemed to get the joke as they continued to look at her quite perplexed; as if she was the one that was crazy and dressed in re-enactment clothes... - _Hey: whatever makes them happy... at least they scared away ‘Ram’ and his gang_...

After a pause, Mister Big-and-Muscly asked: “What business do you have in Storm’s End?”

Reluctantly, Sansa looked back up at the man, putting her hand on her forehead to bloke the sunlight, and said: “...Well that’s... that’s my destination...”

 

Their gazes properly meeting, instead of replying, the leader just stared thoughtfully at her, frowning, his gaze fixed on her eyes. – _Great..._

Some days, Sansa hated her Tully features (- and even her name -): whatever she did, however hard she tried to blend in, she would never succeed. Hated the unwanted attention not only her hair but mainly her eyes drew: people couldn’t help but notice her eyes... mismatched eyes, one grey, one blue**, were hard to overlook.

Then, not a minute had passed, before he swung himself off his horse to the ground and strode toward her. Startled, she stumbled back several steps as he stalked forward. Unfortunately, he easily caught her by the arm and glared down at her.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

When the girl had raised a hand to her forehead as if dizzy, Stannis froze.

 

First it had been the reply; the fact that her destination was _his_ castle. Then it was when he noticed her eyes: a shiver had run through him when he noticed the striking, mismatched eyes swimming before him. They were most uncommon: one grey, one blue. He had never seen like them before.

However, he had heard of two women with such a ... ‘ _defect_ ’: the first was Shiera Seastar, one of King Aegon IV bastard daughters who to his knowledge had died without having any children, even though she had many lovers, and the second was the lady Minisa Whent who had later become Lady Minisa Tully, wife to Lord Hoster Tully.***

Of course he had never met the late-Lady Tully himself, but many had heard of Lord Whent’s daughter’s eyes as she was growing up and even after her betrothal with the Lord of Riverrun. Gossip had still continued afterwards of course... though by now most had forgotten the fact since she had died on the childbed, a year before Stannis’ marriage to her daughter.

The rumours that Lord Hoster Tully was known to have become something of a recluse since his wife’s death, quite a few years since he had left the Riverlands, or even Riverrun, seemed more plausible to Stannis, with more of an understanding as to why Hoster Tully could have been known to be so attached to his wife... - _One could get lost in those eyes_...

By the gasps he was clearly not the only one to have noticed her eyes – assumed that a few had also come to the same conclusion as him. Moreover, as if to confirm his thoughts, he noticed the ring on her hand: the ring she wore looked to possess the Tully emblem.

 

Off his horse in an instant, Stannis quickly covered the ground between them, grabbed her arm and lifted her hand. She hit him in the chest with her free fist, but he barely noticed as he studied the ring. There could be no doubt: the Tully coat-of-arms, a leaping silver trout, glinted bright and clear against the gold. Stannis would know it anywhere even without the constant parchments he had received from the Riverlands in the last weeks.

He quickly looked about, but saw no other knights, near nor in the distance. The girl had mentioned the men who had attacked her, believing Stannis and his men to have scared them away...

He turned to Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Arstan Selmy and commanded: “Search the trees.”

 

Turning back to the chit, Stannis let go of her hand and instead took her by the shoulders. Even though his touch was light, she strained away from him. He frowned and gently turned her to face him head on. Her eyes were truly they were fascinating: - one was a full Tully blue, where as the other was half grey, half blue with silver flecks in it.

Moving his gaze from her eyes to the rest of her face and body, Stannis studied her more closely, noticing all the things he had missed when he had first looked upon her. She was definitely beautiful – even more so than Lysa – porcelain skin, high cheekbones, of course he had already noticed her clothes that did not hide her tall womanly body... and then the thick auburn hair... Part of him was more than relieved that she didn’t actually look too similar to her sister: her eyes had the obvious difference, her hair was lighter than Lysa’s, her skin seemed to glow, and she was definitely taller...

However as Stannis continued to study her, more questions and confusion swarmed his mind: though she definitely looked younger than Lysa, she was clearly older than four-and-ten... Clearly she was too old to be Catelyn Tully... and he was now widowed from the only other Tully daughter...

 

With a small pause, he reflected on the matter. - If hadn’t been for the eyes, one might question her legitimacy, maybe thinking her a bastard of either Hoster Tully or his brother Brynden. Though, Stannis really doubted Lord Tully had broken his marriage vows, found it hard to believe that his brother’s strong sense of right and wrong would pull Brynden Tully to acknowledge any child.

However, with one glance at those eyes, and anyone in the Realm would believe Lady Minisa Whent her mother and Lord Tully her father. – She was the true mix of her parents.

But there in lay the problem: Tully only had _two_ daughters and his heir. Thinking further, Stannis remembered that Maester Cressen had said that Lady Tully had given birth to two other children but both had said to had died in infancy. Lady Minisa Tully had died herself from childbirth and Lysa’s own pregnancies had not been without cause for concern. - The girl was most likely one of the two children, but if so: what would be the reason to keep her hidden... Lie and say she had died at infancy?

 

Even if her colouring and eyes were proof of her heritage, Stannis couldn’t help but demand: “What is your name?”

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Atfer being utterly unaffected by her weak punch to his chest as well as his scrutiny of her, Big- and Musly’s eyes returned to hers, asking – quite rudely:

“What is your name?”

Sansa paused – although these men didn’t seem to actually want to harm her, she couldn’t ignore the fact that they were clearly surrounding her, had loads of horses as well as the big swords and bows they were caring.

 _\- But... if they were going to hurt me... surely they would have already done already...no_?

The big man had obviously grown impatient, or didn’t like not being answered promptly because he repeated his question even more abruptly than the first:

“Your name?”

Blinking, she stuttered: “S-Sansa.”

Frowned in clear confusion at the name: “ _Sansa_...?”

When Sansa only nodded in response, Big Guy insisted further: “... and your last name, if you please?”

Groaning internally, Sansa throat swallowed as she looked down at the ground and answered reluctantly: “... Sansa Tully.”

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

When his study and questioning was cut short by the girl’s long eyelashes lowering and her shifting the smallest of distances away from him, Stannis released her realising that she seemed to fear him and his men. He cursed his obtuseness: – No, wonder the chit was scared: she had clearly been attacked and now more men were surrounding her...

At the thought Stannis was reminded that that she had just been attacked... He then tried to think _who_ could have dared attack her?... the same person who had seduced Lysa...? ...miscreants?... Slavers?... Had the attacked been intentional – specific to her? Or had she been noticed because of her beautiful lady...?

The thought that someone knew about Lord Tully’s mystery daughter and had attacked her and her retinue, guards before arriving at the castle did not sit well with Stannis. That and the fact that they had clearly docked before Storm’s End and had gone through the mountains from Grandview...

However, he also quickly realised that the time for more questions was when they were safely back at the castle – away from danger and prying eyes and ears.

 

Before he could order anything though, Lady _Sansa Tully_ spoke timidly: “May I ask f-for your name...?”

Once more Stannis curse himself: he had been more than remised in his duties as her betrothed: she had been attacked on his lands, her guards most likely now dead, he had questioned her and he had yet to introduce himself.

Trying to calm his face and voice to look and sound more courteous, he replied:

“I am Lord Stannis Baratheon.”

However her response was unexpected: she smiled and then gave a laugh: “Hahaha...Good one... That was funny...” Eyes shinning, she added in a more calm voice: “No but really: who are you guys?...”

Stannis frowned, not liking that he had to repeat himself, or the fact that his betrothed doubted the validity of his statement: “I _am_ Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, firstborn son of Steffon Baratheon and Cassana Estermont.”

At the response she seemed to look over him - not too different to his own scrutiny of her , looking from the top of his head to his boots – before she then looked past him to his horse and the other men.

Looking back at him, her mismatched eyes blinked, her mouth formed a small ‘oh’...

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

When he had insisted he was ‘ _Lord Stannis Baratheon blah-blah-blah_...’ Sansa had felt a shiver run down her back to her scar.

 

From Big-and Muscly’s frown he definitely had not been happy to repeat himself, and clearly meant business. So Sansa had felt compelled to over him:

Tall - _check_

Dark hair – _check_

Dark blue eyes – _check_

Dragon Age clothes – _check_

Little stags button-cuffs things on Dragon Age tunic (– that is after remembering Grand-Pa Ben saying the stag had been the Baratheon Sigil-) – _check_

Big scary sword at his hip – _check_

Feeling the blood leaving her face, she looked past him:

Big Horse to go riding into war with – _check_

 

Then her eyes went to one of the other men, just as one of the men nudged his horse forward looking at her in concern as well.

Sansa blinked a few times noticing this second big guy, wondering how she had missed him until now, since he looked a lot like Grand-Pa Ben... or more specifically what Grand-Pa Ben had looked like in his late-twenties when he had married Grand-ma Aly, remembering the wedding photo that sat in their living room... even Uncle Cregan looked like him if one looked for long enough...

 

Whatever small about of blood had still been on her face, now definitely left as Sansa turned her wide eyes back from the second man to the first:

 _Holy-Moly-doodle-ly-do_...

If the guy was to be believed... and she hadn’t gone completely insane: this was Stannis Baratheon.... and that was Eddard Stark... her great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather...

 

Partially terrified, largely enthralled, Sansa did the only thing that seemed appropriate: she fainted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Lysa: 21-22, Catelyn: 13-14; Edmure: 8-9. 
> 
> In this story instead of the original timeline/order (ie: Lord tully/minisa whent having: 2 children that died in infancy, Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure, and then another child that died at birth, Minisa dying as well), I changed it to: Lysa born first, 2 children dying in infancy, Catelyn, Edmure, child died at birth/ minisa died in childbirth. So yea in my story Catelyn at the moment is 13-14.  
>  (also: lysa definitely affected by seeing two of her siblings dying in infancy as well as mother dying... did not help state of mind)  
>  In this story will be trying to make a few parallels to Sansa of original and Catelyn of this story. => in GRRM’s story when Tyrion marries Sansa, he is 27, she is 12 nearly 13 (when the moon turns), neither of them are all that pleased by the age gap (as well as Sansa not being pleased with him physically, obviously) 
> 
> Other Ages in 289 AC: Stannis: 25, Ned: 26, Robert: 24, Renly: 12 
> 
> ** - Most likely obvious but want Stannis is describing is in fact skinny jeans.
> 
> *** - Minisa Whent doesn’t actually have heterochromia/ mixmatched eyes in GRRM’s story, (neither does Sansa obviously) but I wanted something unusual that would make it so that Stannis did not wonder her legitimacy... plus adds/ enhances her beauty, and makes her look even less like Lysa...
> 
> \- : - : -
> 
> An idea to what Sansa’s eyes should look like:


	5. PART I, Chapter 4 - The Many Unknowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa thoughts on her current situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - bare with me on this chapter, it ended up being loads longer than I intended so cut it in two. - Really wanted Sansa to not just automatically accept that she had travelled through time...  
> Hopefully you like and her (my) thoughts/ thought process is not too jumbled...

 

Sansa woke up to a soft rocking motion...

 

It took her a few moments to come out of her haze, before she slowly opened her eyes, very much confused as to why she was experiencing a swaying motion... or, for that matter, wondering what exactly was she sitting on or leaning against...

Regrettably, when her eyes finally did adjust, dread ran through her as she not only got the answers to her previous questions, but also the memories of what had happened before she had fainted:

First she had been chased by a gang of sorts, before she had lost consciousness whilst running away from them... Then she had woken up to find Dragon Age guys on horses looking at her with great curiosity, before their leader had said he was ‘ _Lord Stannis Baratheon’_... oh, and that was also when she had noticed another guy that looked a lot like a young version of Grand-Pa Ben...

... Had she missed anything?

 _\- Oh yea_... the fact she was now currently sitting on a huge black horse, heading towards a town and, further away, Storm’s End. She also noticed that a large blanket of sorts had been placed on her shoulders, covering most of her body and legs. As for her back.... _well_... her back was leaning against a particular something that she wasn’t actually sure she wanted to confirm or not was what she thought it...- _he_ \- ... was... but, to be honest, from the large hard muscled thighs either side of her, as well as the large strong arms keeping her in place on the horse, she could give quite an easy guess...

After a few moments, a few more sways from the mount beneath her, curiosity and edginess won out and Sansa finally willed herself to slowly turned her head and to look up at who exactly she was sharing a horse with... and then promptly lost what was left of her breath as she exhaled in a rush: _Yep... Mr Big-and-Muscly_... _aka: ‘Lord Stannis Baratheon’_...

Now, even closer to him, Sansa could study him even more clearly and note the fierceness of his expression as he returned her gaze.

She swallowed and forced herself to breathe again. - He wasn’t exactly handsome; his nose was slightly crooked and had obviously been broken at some point... He also had a few scars on forehead and cheek - _battle scars_?... But he was striking ... very big and masculine... and his eyes were a very intense but a very magnificent dark blue: the colour of the sea during a storm...

Breaking eye contact, fearing she would forget to breathe, her stare lowered to his massive shoulders, thick with muscle, and she swallowed again as she checked the impulse to reach up and touch him to make sure he was real; even though she had just literally been leaning – _and possibly drooling_ \- against him...

Unable to stop another small gulp clench in her throat, Sansa lowered her eyes and turned her head to face front as another shiver ran through her... _How is any of this possible_?

Trying to ignore his heated gaze, which she was sure was still very much on her, Sansa looked down from the horse to the ground, wondering if she should try and slip off the horse and make a break for it?... However, as if reading her intentions, or perhaps the way her body had tensed at the thought of jumping off the huge animal, Mr Big-and-Muscly arms tightened around her, holding her in place effortlessly. - Perhaps that was for the best; she could have broken a leg or both jumping from that distance. Not to mention the fact that she was _surrounded_ by several men on horses that would all clearly outrun her...

In any case: did she want to run? - If Mr Big and Muscly was who he said he was, wouldn’t that mean he could possibly protect her?... None of the men had abused her since he had been there... there was the possibility that someone else would have not been so accommodating...

 

She pondered on the issue a while longer, looking as they slowly passed fields on either side, the town drawing closer, before Sansa soon realised she didn’t have her backpack with her anymore! Once more panic ran through her as she started shifting on the horse, looking around. Thankfully, relief quickly calmed her down a bit when she noticed her bag with the teenager who had been with her the last time she had woken up... The young guy even gave her a small smile, as well as give her bag a pat, clearly trying to reassure her and indicating her bag was in safe hands. However he didn’t say anything.

 _Actually_...

Sansa frowned slightly as she quickly realised that everyone around her was quiet; the other riders were giving her small, sneaky glances of clear interest, but no one was talking... not even Mr Big-and-Muscly... - _Has he told everyone not to speak?... Godddds he really thinks himself lord-all-mighty of this place doesn’t he..._

Not wanting to be the one to break the silence, and definitely not wanting to insight Mr Big-and-Muscly to start asking her questions again, Sansa decided to look in front of her once more, after final glance at her bag and giving a small smile to the teenager holding on to it, on his lap.

 

Not letting herself lean back against Big-and-Muscly, Sansa sat a little more stiffly on the horse, clutching the saddle, as she once more tried her best to ignore the guy. She tried to ignore the heat as it burned though his tunic, the blanket at her back, and beneath her legs.

She had to _think_.

 _Yep_ : she needed to ignore Mr Big-and-Muscly and instead, maybe, it would be a good idea to try and make sense of the present situation, more specifically: _What the heck was going on?!_

Unfortunately, _nothing_ was making sense, everything was giving her a headache, especially since a big part of her refused to believe that she was now in the Dragon Age, riding a horse with _‘Lord Baratheon_ ’. – That was just too crazy.

Closing her eyes and taking a breath, Sansa gulped back impending hysteria. - This was all going to make sense in a moment. She was a smart, rational person: she could figure this out.

The first real explanation that came to her was that she was dreaming, delusional, or out of her mind... _a very strange, very detailed hallucination_ , _mind you_...

Regrettably, her logic soon gave her an explanation as to why she could be dreaming all of this: the four who had chased her were now beating or even raping her, whilst she was lying against the tree unconscious, and her mind had taken her to this alternate reality so she could escape the trauma her body was currently suffering through... Had she hit her head? Had her attackers hit her head? Was she unconscious? Or in a coma? Would she wake at any moment?

Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing escalated as the thought continued. If she was in fact being abused, her subconscious had clearly conjured up a ‘ _Knight in Shining Armor’_ type of hero to defend her, complete with sword, horse and big muscly strength.

Part of her wondered if she had imagined him from all the Dragon Age stories her mother had read to her as a little girl about princesses and ladies in towers and handsome knights coming to save them... Or maybe it was her subconscious remembering Grand-Pa Ben’s tales of the Storm Lord who had protected Storm’s End for at least a year ( _maybe two_?) and who had fought against Ironborns and Zombie people...

Or maybe it was a mix of both. In any case: the four rapists would have nothing on him... that is, if he could have actually defended her.

Even with the darkness of the thought, Sansa couldn’t help but be grateful for his reassuring presence. To be honest, her feminine side couldn’t be more pleased with him either: the possessive way he continued to hold her, at the heat of his gaze made her feel incredibly beautiful and feminine.

However, the other part of her, willed for her to wake up! - No matter what exactly they were doing to her, she _had_ to face reality and _fight!_ How was she suppose to fight them, stop them if she wasn’t awake?... There was also the very bitter reality that they could possibly kill her, with no resistance on her part, once they had finished...

A mix of anger and sorrow built in her chest, sharp and stinging. She _had_ to wake up; she could not let them kill her. She had to survive this. She was strong and could handle this. She had to fight! She had to live! She definitely had to _wake up_... All the more pulled into her thoughts, Sansa closed her eyes and willed herself back to the scene of her assault and possible future murder: _Wake up!... wake up... now!..._ _WAKE UP_!!...

... _Nothing_.

Not ready to give up, frustration mixing in with the fury and sadness, Sansa felt like she was going through the five stages of grief - though stuck somewhere between anger and denial - as she then pinched herself really hard on the arm...

... Still nothing... _well, nothing except for a new bruise on my arm that really hurts_...

 

Clenching her fists as these intense feelings continued to run through her, Sansa then suddenly felt a great pain shoot through one of her fingers. Looking down, she quickly saw that the finger she had jammed her father’s ring on was starting to bleed again.

Sansa blinked down at the ring for several moments as she gave pause.

Eyes still on the ring, she soon realised, unlike her finger, which was definitely stinging, her scar on her back was _not_ ; her scar which always throbbed when she – or her mind - thought herself in danger...

Thinking on it further, Sansa then remembered more clearly the rapid sequence of events that had happened right before she had lost consciousness the first time round; right after she had grabbed her father’s ring from ‘ _Ram’_. As she had run like a madwoman away from the attackers, she had _not_ felt any hands grab her, she was sure of it. No - instead she had ran through the trees, cut herself jamming the ring on her finger... and then had started feeling really dizzy as she had leaned on a tree...

 _The tree had had a face_!

... _A heart tree?_

Heart beating fast against her ribs, Sansa went over each scene as if replaying a key part of a film over and over again. Maybe if she hadn’t noticed the tree when she was being chased, but she had definitely noticed it on some level when she had woken up against it. Her mind had just not fully picked on it the first time round because of all the men surrounding her.

Thinking over the events, and remembering the very strange, kind of scary feelings she had felt as she had been losing consciousness, Sansa finally gave in to the possibility - _the very small possibility_ – that all this might actually not been a dream: - _I mean dragons and zombies have existed... certain types of magic have existed at one point... if the tree was a heart tree... the Old Gods and the magic from the tree people could have done something to save me...no_?

There were so many things that had existed in the world, so many of them still hard to explain how they had ever existed; would it be so crazy to think she had travelled through time?... even though she had not used a time machine*, Tardis*, or DeLorean*... she didn’t even have Hermoine Granger’s Time Turner thing*... and to her knowledge there was no robot chasing her through time to kill Sarah Connor*...

Looking around as they continued to ride, she searched for any possible wink-indications to the Twentieth Century. Alas, all her hopes proved fruitless: she saw no phone or power lines, the road was not paved when she was sure it had been when she had seen it from a distance whilst running, there were no road signs, no cars... no not even a bicycle... _Nothing_.

Even as they reached the outskirts of the town, there were ploughed fields and pastures with people working them, but Sansa couldn’t see any farm equipment. She spied a river and a pond, and what looked to be a mill, a few hens were scratching in the dirt outside what looked like a tavern; two women, also dressed in Dragon Age clothes, were folding sheets in front of one of the tall, wood-framed houses; and a boy was staggering under the weight of a huge bucket, slopping water as he went, no shoes at his feet. Even further in front, more cottages with thatched roofs, close and in the distance, as well as animal pens filled with noisy, smelly, pigs, goats, cows, and sheared sheep, spread over the landscape.

Sansa stared up at the castle beyond the town. Strong and rugged, it definitely looked quite a lot like the one she had been admiring from her rock, except maybe that it looked less old...? It definitely looked even more impressive, closer.

Eyes fixed on the massive outer wall and the huge drum tower, with its battlements, she couldn’t help but agree when Grand-Pa Ben had said it was resembled a single huge, spiked fist thrusting towards the sky in defiance. – Sansa couldn’t help but think it was about to give the finger to the sea in front of it, remembering that it had been built by King [Durran "Godsgrief"](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Durran), the first [Storm King](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Storm_King) during the [Dawn Age](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dawn_Age), who raised Storm's End to check the wrath of the gods ( - God of the Sea and Goddess of the wind if she wasn’t mistaken–) for marrying their daughter. Of course, Grand-Pa had added that some believe this was because the [children of the forest](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Children_of_the_forest) took a hand in its construction, using their spells woven into the stonework helping it to resist the storms, whilst he went on and on about ‘ _super amazing_[ _Bran the Builder_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Bran_the_Builder)’ having been the one to advise Durran on its construction.

This _had_ to be the same castle; though to say if it was about 5,000 years old or 7,000 years old... Sansa was not knowledgeable enough to know that.

However so many several details made her refuse to believe that this was a dream. Trauma or not, no matter how many stories she had heard from Grand-Pa Ben, or how many books she had read or films she had watched: her imagination wasn’t this _amazing_. She had no knowledge of towns during the Dragon Age except for films, so her subconscious would have definitely have been lacking in the detailing of the people and house they were passing. As for the castle: Sansa had only ever seen Storm’s End from far away... and she had about no knowledge of castles from the Dawn Age or from the Dragon Age. The only two castle she had ever visited were Winterfell Castle, which was a less well preserved than this one, though still standing strong, and it looked nothing like this castle, and the other was the Riverrun castle... which was more a palace now... due to its several alterations, including quite an important one in the Fifteenth Century.

They were still going through the town, now a few more people milling about and children playing. Closer together cottages lined the streets; some seemed to be businesses, others dwellings. A man pounded metal in one of the buildings, and smoke poured from a chimney in the middle of the structure. As the entourage of riders passed, everyone stopped what they were doing to bow or at least dip their heads. Here again, every person was dressed in Dragon Age clothing: the women in loose dresses, the men in belted tunics and breeches. Like the first boy she had seen, most of the children were barefoot, making her heart clench.

 

 

The further they moved, the clearer it became to Sansa that if she was in fact in the Dragon Age - _in the Dragon Age leaning against Lord Stannis Baratheon, whilst sitting on his horse_ \- then she definitely needed some kind of plan, and for that she also definitely needed as much information as possible.

One important part of that seemed to be figuring out _when_ exactly she was in the Dragon Age: Sansa definitely had no interest in meeting the zombie people, though she was reassured by the fact that she was still in the Stormlands; only Dorne was more south.

Still, Sansa tried to pull together her small amount of knowledge of Storm’s End and its different lords. Thankfully Grand-Pa Ben had actually talked about ‘ _Stannis Baratheon_ ’; cousin Stann was actually even named after him – well, actually named after the first ‘ _Stann Stark_ ’ but since he had been named after Lord Stannis Baratheon... _well_ , _there you go_... _tomato... tomahto_...

Remembering further the tales about Lord Eddard Stark’s friendship with Stannis Baratheon, Sansa looked back behind Stannis to her ancestor, feeling a shiver run through her, when she meant her predecessor’s grey-silver, which were eyes so much like her mother’s, as well as her Stark family.

Looking back in front of her, she wondered if Eddard Stark was Lord of Winterfell yet, visiting his friend?... or maybe his father was still alive? ... maybe he wasn’t married yet, just still chumming around with his best-budd before he settled down (and the war started)?...

She also recalled something about both men marrying Tully brides, making them brother-in-laws.

\- Repressing a snort, she then remembered the argument that had ensued from Grand-Pa Ben added the tid-bit fact that the Stormlord had actually only married once, even though his bride had died really early in their marriage and he had no heir. Grand-Pa Ben had gone on to say that he thought that the lord had not married because he had been very much in love with Lyanna Stark who had married someone else. The remark had prompted Arya to snort and call Grand-Pa ‘naive’, saying that it was obvious that Eddard Stark and Stannis Baratheon had been ‘bum-chums’, which had resulted in Grand-Pa shocking on his drink, whilst Stann had gotten really angry about the comment on his name sake. – With that in mind, Sansa couldn’t help but sneak another glance from Big-and-Muscly to his ‘best-bud’, wondering on Arya’s allegations...

However the musing was quickly disrupted by a sudden dread: she had told him her name – both first and _last_ name. Had her features and the fact she had said that she was a Tully marked her as from the House?... This was probably why Lord Baratheon was now taking her with him to the castle. She could hope that she would be treated well when they reached it... that is until the truth came out. - That thought sent her heart fluttering in panic once more: What would she say when someone finally got around to asking questions?

– No wonder Mr Big-and-Muscly and his men continued to look at her with great curiosity and confusion: she didn’t exist in these times...

\- _Oh, and by the way, I come from the twentieth century. Surprise!_

Nope, that little tidbit would probably be best to keep to herself. No way did she want to be associated with sorcery or witchcraft... though: _did they burnt witches in this time...or was it later centuries?_

 

There was also the big question of: did this mean that Lord Baratheon now thought her a Tully as well, sister to Ladies Something Tully one and two...?

Crap, crap, crap... _crap_! – What if she met her ancestor and ancestor’s sister?... maybe – _hopefully_ \- the two men weren’t married to the Tully girls yet?... And Sansa could just disappear before her Tully relatives came for the wedding... _hopefully_ , _fingers-crossed_...

Her heart beat started beating faster as the possibilities multiplied: what if Lord Baratheon wanted to talk about his future bride?... what if she was already at the castle?... what if both Tully women were both at the castle?... What if they weren’t but Lord Baratheon thought it best to inform Lord _Something_ Tully that one of his daughters had randomly showed up at his castle?... Would he be sending her back to her non-actually-father?... or was her ‘father’ dead also in this time period?... Then again, surely both Stark and Baratheon knew how many Tully daughters there were (and their names)... unlike Sansa...

It wasn’t like she could simply turn around and ask: ‘ _so... are you guys married to my ‘sisters’ yet?... and also: what are their names again?... and my father’s while you’re at it?... and is he still alive?... are my sisters alive?’_...

_ARRRGGGHHHhhhh.... so many uncertainties!?!?!?!..._

 

By now her mind was whirling, her heart racing, her hands sweating, being uncertain if she would rather this be real or her being in a coma dreaming all of this...

This was definitely becoming a really horrible day!

 

The horse suddenly gave a small snort, as if he had sensed her ever-growing distress.

Sansa was actually thankful for the break from her thoughts, reminding her that the main thing was to keep a clear mind, and the need of a plan of sorts. – Number 1: _PLAN_!

So, that meant no more focusing on possibilities that would get her nowhere. Instead she would figure out when exactly she was and pull in all her efforts to remembering every little detail that she had ever heard about Stannis Baratheon and Eddard Stark.

Ok, first off: she had Grand-Pa’s stories, which did include a few about at least Eddard Stark, as well as about the Seven Kingdom War, the Ironborn War thing, and the Zombie War...

She then cursed herself cursed herself for not having her textbooks from university. She definitely had at least two different history related books, one from her fashion courses, the other from her literary courses – but then again who brought their text books on a trip?... She _did_ have her tablet though, which definitely did have still some of her work from school as well as her courses from university: _Woohoo_!... hopefully she had one or two things about Mr Big-and-Muscly amongst the ‘ _History of the Marish Silk’_ or something...

.... Though:

1 – she would need to find a way to actually look at her tablet without anyone noticing her do it ( - _and be burnt as a witch_ -), and...

2 – her university information was a lot based on the fact that Stannis had either been really into fashion or into literature... somehow, at least for the fashion, she was pretty sure that was not the case: even though his jerkin seemed of really good quality and the detailing of the little stags at the collar as well as on the buttons were outstanding, his whole outfit seemed very subdued, not at all giving off a ‘fashion vibe’... and there was the fact that he clearly did not know or did not care that black was not the best colour for his complexion, making him look waaayyyy too serious and older. – Nope a nice dark blue jacket would be sooo much better and make his eyes stand out more...

... _hey_ , _being possibly gay and knowing the best colour and tailoring for you didn’t necessarily go hand in hand_... _(reluctant sigh)_

The jury was still out for literature, although she was pretty sure she had never heard of him in association to literature either...

Nope, she was quite sure he was mainly linked with wars, battles, commanding troops, sieges... which all depended on how much of her school stuff she still had on her tablet, how much she could recall, and how much of Grand-Pas stories she remembered as well.

 

There was also the big problem of even if she remembered all of what she had ever been told about the Dragon Age and Stannis Baratheon, she had no real knowledge what-so-ever about day-to-day life in this period. – Yes there were quite a few films she had seen that had been set in the Dragon Age, but she wasn’t naive to think that they hadn’t mixed up a few centuries together, and made everything a bit more ‘modern’ and ‘sexy’...

 

Finally small light bulb of hope appeared: maybe she could pretend she had amnesia? - She had been attacked and she had told as much to Lord Baratheon. She _was_ still going over the ‘trauma’ of the attack... surely a possible attack-rape scenario memory loss? Maybe play it up a bit with the bruising and say she had hit her head... _I mean it’s not like they had an MIR machine to whip-out to check if I’m telling the truth or see if I have brain damage_...

 

The start of a plan forming in her mind, Sansa felt her body relax slightly, swaying with the horse, as they neared the huge castle walls.

 

... _Hopefully I’ll be able to get out and back home in one piece...._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - For those interested: ‘ the time machine’ from the film: _The Time Machine_ , the ‘Tardis’ is from the _Doctor Who_ series, the ‘DeLorean’ is from the film franchise _Back to the Future_ , ‘Hermoine Granger’s Time Turner thing’ is from the _Harry Potter_ books and films, and the ‘robot’ and ‘Sarah Connor’ is from the _Terminator_ films.


	6. PART I, Chapter 5 - An Unusual Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arriving at Storm's End

 

 

To say Stannis was confused would have been the understatement of the Century.

 

It did not help that with the confusion was also mixed anger, frustration, concern and apprehension.

His betrothed, who until today he had never heard of, had arrived without any forewarning and had been attacked, possibly abused on his lands. It would be foolish to not consider the real possibility that the attack had been in direct connection with him. It was no wonder that the girl had ended up fainting: she must have endured quite a few scares from the attack and then more strange men had found her.

Thankfully, when she had fainted, he had been able to catch her before she had hit the ground. He remembered thinking that her body in his arms had not felt as odd and stiff as it had with her sister, that and the fact that she had felt surprising light.

On the other hand, limp in his arms he had also noted in more detail the marks on her face, the cut on her skin, revealed above the collar of her strange cloak, as well as seen more clearly the way her finger was bleeding in such a way that someone had tried to steal the ring from her; all this, in addition to the scratches and smudges on the strange breeches she was wearing. Fury still very much present within him, he even now still wondered once more the extent of her abuse and what exactly had transpired before she had been found by the farmer and his wards. - Had they taken her clothes? Defiled her? Once more he felt his skin heating at the thought. Though he did take comfort in the realization that at least the strange breeches were still firmly in place on her person and neither Renly or any of the others had mentioned anything; surely they would had said something if they had witnessed someone moving from the lying body. Moreover, he was quite certain that if she had been raped surely she would have been even more emotional... frightened... _no_?

As for the girl herself, he couldn’t quite decide what to think of her yet. He had just met her and she _had_ just been through a traumatic experience, so it would be foolish to decide on an opinion already, yet he couldn’t help but feel bristled by the fact that she hadn’t believed him when he had first introduced himself. – Had she imagined someone very different? Was she disappointed? Had Lysa said horrible things about him that made her fear him?

There was also the very important fact that until today he had never heard of a ‘ _Sansa Tully’_. If Lord Hoster Tully had another daughter, why had he never heard of her? He also couldn’t help but wonder where she had been during his wedding: he would have definitely remembered her and was more than certain that Robert would have been more interested in her than Lysa’s Whent cousin*. Thinking about it further, even Lysa had never mentioned her. Then again he acknowledged that they had never had meaningful conversations, not even about their respective families: he had mainly assured her needs and in return she was to provide him with an heir. In addition to all this and the fact that she was marrying him now, there was the question of why had she not already been married to Brandon Stark?

He was also very much confused by her name, and from a brief glance earlier to Eddard, so was his friend. ‘ _Sansa’_ had definitely been as unexpected a name as the lady herself: it was a northern name, for a daughter of the Lord of the Riverlands... To his knowledge there had never been a marriage between a Tully and a member of any northern house. The only possible explanation for this was Hoster Tully had heard of the name, possibly through his travels as a young man, and had taken a liking to it. Yet, even this reasoning seemed rather flimsy.

Each question had raised another until his head throbbed - as it still did now - and after a moment of consideration, Stannis had acknowledged that the questions would be asked in due time, only after they returned to the castle. For now, he had decided to leave her be: there was no mistaking the signs of distress and exhaustion on her pale face, and it would be unwise to wake her from her slumber to possibly add more anguish. However, once inside, he _would_ demand answers... as well as request Cressen to determine the _state_ of the lady and _extent_ of her injuries.

There had in lied another issue: there were no additional horses, as all were being used by the men or carrying the kills from the hunt, and it would take a still a good half-hour before reaching the keep. Yet, they could not delay to bring her to safety especially if she had already been attacked.

Definitely not liking the idea of her sharing a horse with someone else - nor the looks others gave her, whether it was looks of curiosity or otherwise – Stannis had decided that, as her betrothed, it would have only been right that she ride with him. Briefly placing her in Renly’s arms, he had tugged a blanket off his horse and wrapped her in it, not wanting his men or any passersby to be able to see the shape of her legs outlined a little too well through her strange breeches. Satisfied by his swift achievement he had then picked her up in his arms once more and lifted her onto his horse before hoisting himself behind her. With a rising sense of protectiveness and wanting to make sure she didn’t accidentally fall off, he had then pressed her body closer to his own.

Strangely, a small sense of loss ran through him when not long had passed before the warmth of her body pressing against his chest had disappeared; this, with a fair amount of shifting and a sudden stiffness, had indicated that the lady had regained her senses.

Unfortunately, during the rest of the ride back, his curiosity and confusion of ‘Lady Sansa Tully’ had only grown tenfold. She had continually to act most strangely on the horse: fidgeting and shifting constantly that he was sure she would fall off, then looking around to everything around her as if she was a new born babe seeing the world for the first time. Not to mention that on more than one occasion she had proceeded to either study his person – making him wonder far and wide her thoughts of him - and Eddard – which actually appealed even less to him, when he had noted the interest in her eyes when looking at his friend. There had also been the strange moment when she had intentionally harmed herself – _pinching her arm?_ \- which even now he had no idea why she would have done such a thing.

On the other hand, he had noticed the peculiar scrutiny and squirming of the lady had been somewhat tempered when her face had lost the small amount of colour it had not once but twice, making Stannis wonder if she had been remembering the attackers or if she was thinking of her guards who were now most likely dead. She was clearly distraught from the ordeals of the day, and once more he did not believe he had a right to form an opinion of her after such torment.

 

Yet, even now she befuddled him: as they reached the main gate and her eyes were wide in wonder, her small red lips slightly parted as she continued to gaze at the portcullis and bridge, as if she had never seen such contraptions before.

 

 

. . .

 

 

As they started to cross the drawbridge, the horses’ hooves struck as a disordered orchestra against the wood, distracting Sansa from her forming plan.

They travelled under the large spikes of the raised portcullis, the teeth pointing menacingly downward, Sansa unable to hold back the mix of awe and forebodingness of not only the gate possibly falling on them but feeling that she was now her possible doom, as the castle’s captive. The feelings only increased when, seconds later they were fully enclosed in the darkened, walled passageway of the gatehouse. A shiver running down her spine, Sansa tightened her hold of the blanket, pulling it closer to her.

Thankfully, they moved swiftly through the enclosure, and soon came out into a huge, bustling courtyard. Her eyes moved everywhere, trying to take in as much as possible at what looked like a small city enclosed within the walls. The huge tower that she had seen even from her rock dominated the view, as well as seemed contain quite a fair amount of the buildings within its structure; people moving in and out of its many openings, busy, some carrying trays, others pulling horses behind them, some children playing. A little farther away, she noticed several men with wooden swords, clearly training; she couldn’t help but give a small smile at the sight: - _Arya would be soooo jealous_...

... _Actually_ : thinking about her cousin, her short pixie cut messy hair, her piercings, and big direwolf tattoo on the inside of her arm, as well as the dark red lip-stick Arya usually wore that made her look a bit like a punk-vampire, Sansa then started to reconsider if it would be a good idea for Arya to come here, in this time...

Regrettably she thoughts on her cousin stopped rather abruptly when Sansa realised that most of the occupants of the courtyard had actually stopped what they were doing to stare at the arriving group... or more specifically at _her_ , making Sansa squirm once more.

\- _Yeah... everyone stare at the new girl_... _NOT!_

Mr Big-and-Muscly at least seemed totally oblivious to the stares: he rode his destrier up to the keep and, in one smooth move, dismounted before helping her down – or more specifically: placing his large hands at her hips and lifting her effortlessly off the big animal. It was only once she was on the ground that he let her go. Unfortunately, since she was still a little shaky from the events of the day and the fact that she had been on a horse for quite a while, Sansa was not quite ready for the release, leading her to stumble forward. A large, warm hand placed itself on her shoulder until she steadied herself. However, this time, Lord Baratheon did not remove it as he led her up to a few stairs, through the open doorway, and inside the huge drum tower.

 

They had barely entered the keep when an older woman dressed in a long grey dress, a veil-turban thing covering her hair joined them. Only allowing a brief clearly curious glance towards Sansa, her eyes widening slightly, she gave Mr Big-and-Muscly a crusty, and spoke solemnly:

“Lord Baratheon.”

Only then did Mr Big-and-Muscly separate himself from Sansa, his warm hand leaving her shoulder. Putting some distance between them and Sansa, _Lord Baratheon_ addressed the woman in hushed tones, clearly giving her information and instructions.

Not wanting to intrude on the clearly private conversation, Sansa studied the entrance in amazement: she would definitely be getting a very personal tour of the castle. An impressive tapestry depicting hunting scenes in rich crimsons, golds, blues and greens adorned the wall, along with weaponry of all sorts and shields bearing a large black stag on a golden-yellow field. Being torn from her life was definitely frightening and horrific – especially the way in which it had happened - but to see something like this castle, to exist in this time after years of Grand-Pa Ben going on about the Dragon Age, it truly filled her with awe. – She would treasure this memory for the rest of her life... that is if she ever got home.

Thankfully the small pang in her chest at the thought was interrupted when the conversation between the other two finally seemed concluded, Lord Baratheon turning his dark blue eyes on her, his voice slightly gruff:

“My lady... this is Septa Baela, she will attend to until you until Maester Cressen comes to treat your injuries...”

It took her a few moments to remember that ‘ _maester’_ where the doctor of the Dragon Age, but before Sansa could possibly protest, the older lady gave her a curtsy, and said in a similar solemn tone to the one she had addressed Lord Baratheon with:

“My lady, if you will follow me, I will show you to your chambers.”

After blinking, Sansa gave a small nod deciding she might as well: she was drained and she did have a few scratches and bruises that could use a look at. At least none of her Tully ancestors had come to ‘ _welcome’_ her - or more likely be _‘WTF??_ ’ by her presence - yet. Moreover, if _Lord Baratheon_ wanted to make sure she was alright, might as well make the most of it before he undoubtedly asked her loads of questions she still had to properly figure out how to answer and prepare herself for possibly meeting her not-actual-sisters.

After giving small nod and tentative smile to Big-and-Muscly, pulling the blanket closer around her - knowing that a woman in skinny jeans was more than odd in the Dragon Age but also feeling as if it was her last ‘shield’ - Sansa followed the robed woman up a set of stairs.

During the journey through the tower, Sansa couldn’t help but run her hand on one section of the wall, admiring the stonework and the way the staircase curved. Once arriving at a certain floor, they walked down a large long corridor, dressed with colourful wall hangings, flickering wall sconces, and a couple of handcrafted tables.

Not long down the corridor, the other lady opened a huge wooden door, leading Sansa inside, before informing her she would be back with ... something... – Sansa was entirely sure as her thoughts had been focused on the new space that surrounded her. The chamber she had been given was amazing: from its size and furnishings, it only confirmed further that – _for now_ \- she was being treated as an honoured guest.

Looking around her, she first noticed the large bed with its heavy wooden frame, comfortable bedding, and linen hangings. She went to check it out, thrilled to find it held a feather mattress covered in linen and thick wool blankets. Then, looking around once more, she noticed a beautiful tapestry, not as large as the one in the entrance it was still captivating – there was the added benefit that this one was of a forest scene without having any animals being hunted and killed. Her study returning to the rest of her room, she then noted several pegs were mounted right into the stone on one wall, and a wooden trunk had been placed underneath, before her eyes reached the outer wall where a tall, slightly narrow window cut through its centre. Moving to it, she looked outside, to see a view of the bay and coast and even a forest in the distance.

Laying a hand flat on the cold glass, still looking outside towards the water, she tried to absorb the reality she had been thrust into. A real castle complete with lords, knights, swords, servants! – She was still having trouble putting her head around it all.

 

With concern rushing back, Sansa then realised that she hadn’t taken her bag with her. She coulnt help but wonder where it was now, and hoping that the teenager hadn’t stolen it and was now looking through her stuff... her passport, tablet, umbrella, phone, clothes.... _Gods, her underwear_!... What would he do with _them_?

Gratefully, her troubled thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. – _It’s not like I can go hunt him down and demand my bag_...

 

Pushing the matter of her bag as an issue to resolve later, Sansa crossed the chamber and opened it a crack, looking out.

On the other side was the Septa Baela woman as well as two younger women with her; behind them she also spied what seemed to be a copper tub being carried by two men. All of them smiled and curtsied, calling her ‘ _my lady_ ’.

Not knowing what else to do, and in any case realising at the sight of the tub that she would definitely not say no to a bath, Sansa opened the door wider to let them in, only giving a tentative smile in return, still too afraid to speak.

She noticed them all give her a few curious glances as they proceeded inside, but thankfully the two men only deposited the bathtub near the hearth, before leaving the room once more – hopefully to get the hot water needed for the bath.

As for the women, interest and curiosity clear on all their faces, the younger women stood slightly back from the septa; they all seemed to be looking at her expectantly, whilst Sansa just waited for them to say something, since clearly she was missing something.

Finally, Septa Baela spoke once more: “Does your ladyship need assistance in disrobing?”

Sansa blinked: _do they expect me to strip in front of them_?

Gaping slightly, she only shook her head. Unfortunately the septa gave a small frown at this: “My lady surely you do not mean to stay in your... _travelling clothes_? Would you not prefer freshening yourself before changing into something more pleasant?”

 

At the question, one of the two other woman stepped forward and unfolded the bundle Sansa hadn’t noticed she had been carrying, for her to inspect. What was presented to her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen – and that was coming from a student doing a double-diploma in literature and _fashion_. Unlike those the three women were wearing, this one was definitely not simple: finer in quality, a better cut, a beautiful sapphire blue, with strands of a darker blue and a deep red giving it detailing. It made her think of a painting she had seen in the National Gallery, although Princess Alysanne** who had been in the painting had been wearing white and she was pretty sure the painting was from the tenth or even eleventh century... In any case, as a first year student, she could definitely admire it and take in the value of its true workmanship and clearly they _did_ think her the daughter of a great lord and her ‘ _sister’_ had not yet arrived to correct them...

Clearly noticing her expression the young woman gave Sansa an eager smile, clearly keen on pleasing and serving Sansa.

The dress really _was_ gorgeous and blue did suit Sansa really well – _not to brag or anything_. It would be amazing to wear it while she was here. However that was not the problem: three women were the problem; Sansa was that interested in stripping in front of the three women, especially in her ‘ _modern clothing_ ’. Unfortunately Sansa was pretty sure they wouldn’t leave her alone in the room, so she decided on the next best thing, finally finding her voice, she shyly said:

“May I have some privacy please?”

Unfortunately even with her request, instead of turning around, the women only frowned slightly in confusion before taking a few steps back but clearly ready to ‘help her disrobe’ at the first mention.

Sansa gave a small sigh and moved closer to the bed, using it as a slight barrier, as she decided to undress. Feeling more than awkward, and slightly suspicious that the women had moved a few steps forward when she hadn’t been looking, Sansa first took off her jacket-raincoat-wind-breaker, and then proceeded to untie her boots. Forcing herself to ignore the stares – either wondering if she needed help or ever-so-curious as to what she was wearing – Sansa then reluctantly took off her v-neck cardigan. There was definitely a few small gasps from the two younger women seeing her t-shirt, though Sansa was secretly relieved she was wearing a simple light grey shirt and not the one that had the Rolling Stones Lip logo on it or, even worse, the one Arya had given her for her birthday with written “ _Winter comes many times_ ” on it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she then unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, before sliding them off clumsy - _one can ever really take off skinny jeans with any real grace_...

Looking back up, she noticed that unlike the younger women, the septa seemed more fascinated by her jeans, than her shirt and underwear, and clearly wanted to study them more closely. However, before she possibly could ask or before Sansa could continue undressing, there was another knock at the door.

Unfortunately when this happened, the two younger women practically ran to Sansa and before she could make any sound of protest, they took the blanket from the bed and covered her body with it, whilst Septa Baela went to answer the door.

\- _Well isn’t this great_...

The door opened to another two women bringing buckets of what Sansa could assume was hot water, as they proceeded to place them between the heath and tub.

 

With them also came in an old man, possibly in his seventies, dressed in a long grey garb, a long set of chains dangling from his neck: ‘ _Maetser Cressen’_ she assumed, as the door shut behind him.

Similar to the women and men before him, he also gave her a solemn bow:

“My lady, I am Maester Cressen, maester of the castle. Lord Baratheon has informed me that you were attacked on journey here. He has asked me to attend to your possible injuries.”

At the bow and introduction, Sansa wondered if she needed to do a responding curtsy, however, before she could give any kind of response, the women who had been encircling her separated, taking the blanket with them, ultimately leaving Sansa flashing the old guy.

Even though Sansa was now getting more and more frustrated with the women, she was surprisingly more alright with the maester-doctor guy being there. He at least was hiding his possible curiosity of her and seemed only interested in checking her bruises, making sure she wasn’t severely injured. There was also the fact that Sansa was much more use to doctors doing check-ups through the years than her doing slumber parties with other girls her age... _or older_ _for that matter._

Having had quite a few doctor exams through her life, she decided to indulge him, though she secretly hoped that they wouldn’t be taking a vial on her blood. It also reassured to see him first go to clean his hand in a small side basin; bring a small sense of relief as to the level of hygiene of the Dragon Age.

Blushing slightly, she let Maester Cressen move towards her and start treating her cuts, putting some kind of soothing balm on them. He first looked at the one on her hand – helping her remove the ring from her finger without tearing more skin - then proceeded to her scraped knees, before treating the cut of her collar bone and the scratches on her face.

For the collar bone cut, he had asked her to remove her ‘ _small shift_ ’ which had lead to another chorus of small gasps from the now five women, when seeing her bra. Sansa noticed that unlike the maester who seemed to take it like everything else – as a professional - the septa’s eyes were bulging, where as the others seemed more intrigued by her bra... Sansa suppressed an eye roll: it wasn’t even one of her nicer, _Agent Provocateur_ ones***; this was just a plain cotton bra... She then wondered how they would react to her more lacy and racy stuff: probably give the older gal a heart attack...

Uncovered, except for her underwear and bra, Cressen had then proceeded to do a general check up of her, clearly making sure she hadn’t broken anything. Appreciatively, when he had moved to her back, he had not asked about her scar, probably realising it was an old one and not from the recent attack, though Sansa had definitely noticed the clear interest in his eyes this time.

 

When he had finally finished prodding her, measuring her and doing a full turn of her body, Sansa gave a sigh of relief as the exam appeared to be finally over.

Unfortunately, she soon realised she had been gravely mistaken, when the maester addressed her once more:

“My lady would you please lie on the bed and removing your... smallclothes.”

 

At the request, there was a small pause.

 

Sansa had enough knowledge to know that ‘ _smallclothes_ ’ were an old way of saying underwear, but she still hoped that she had understood him wrong. Blinking for several moments, her voice stammering awkwardly, she asked:

“W-why?... Is that really necessary?” - _You can’t be serious?_...

“My lady, Lord Baratheon wants to ensure that you had not been... _abused_ during the attack.”

Blinking once more, mouth gaping, Sansa stuttered once more:

“ _A-abused_?... You mean raped, right? Well... I-I can assure you I was not raped... no... Nope, no raping occurred... I am all good...”

Unfortunately Maester Cressen gave her a small patronising look, insisting:

“My lady, this is unfortunately necessary.”

 

Eyes bulging further, Sansa took a step back from the old guy. - _Oh by the All fucking Gods!!! ‘Lord Baratheon’ did NOT say anything about checking out my private parts_!

If this was all a dream, now would be a very good time to wake up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> * Not really important to the story but Lysa’s Whent cousin that Stannis mentions is the unnamed daughter of Lord [Walter Whent](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Walter_Whent) and Lady [Shella Whent](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Shella_Whent) and was the reigning [queen of love and beauty](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Queen_of_love_and_beauty) at the opening of the [tourney at Harrenhal](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tourney_at_Harrenhal). I will be giving her a name in later chapters.
> 
> *** - Though there isn’t the fudal system/ House system of the Dragon Age, the Tullys and Starks are still very wealthy/knwon families in modern Westeros; so Sansa can definitely afford nice lingerie (Agent Provocateur)... (...that maybe a certain someone might come to appreciate later in the story ;) )
> 
> ** Here is the painting Sansa was thinking of when looking at the dress. In actuality its Eleanor of Aquitaine (Aliénor d'Aquitaine) but since there is no France or England, made her a future targaryen princess/ queen called Alysanne:
> 
> [ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/shortsandramblings/media/tableau-alienor-36301c8_zpsogtixd0z.jpg.html)


	7. PART I, Chapter 6 - The Lady's Many Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis' return to Storm's End.

 

As Stannis eyes followed Lady Tully ascend the stairs and out of view, he once more was drawn by the peculiar aura that seemed to surround the lady.

Of course the many curious stares during the journey through the village as well as in the courtyard hadn’t gone unnoticed, confirming further the intrigue surrounding his new betrothed, as well as her attractiveness and odd demeanour. He couldn’t well admonish them for their justified interest. As long as they realised that they would not be getting the answers to their unspoken questions... or at least not before he was at least satisfied with his own.

Of course there were Lady Tully’s own queer stares of Storm’s End that he had also noticed: when he had been speaking with Septa Baela, Stannis had observed his betrothed’s eyes roam around the hall like she had never seen the like before, - not too different to the strange manner she had acted upon Fury. - It was one more action to add to the ever growing mystery surrounding the lady.

With a hesitant sigh, he hoped that the bath and the gown he had charged Septa Baela in arranging would help her regain some of the colour on her face, as well as make her less apprehensive and regain a more usual demeanour. – Lysa had not been the first woman he had noticed to like being attended and pampered to, and be given beautiful clothing and accessories, surely her sister would be similar in those aspects. Unfortunately, since there were no trunks with her, the lady’s only remaining possession being the strange sac, Stannis had decided to instruct Septa Baela to find one of Lysa’ gowns for her to wear. Though taller and possibly a slightly smaller frame to her older sister, the gown should fit. In any case, it wasn’t as if he possessed any other ladies garments that would be appropriate for Lady Sansa Tully to wear without her possibly feeling insulted; - for now it would do.

 

In any event, he had other things to concentrate on: the first on the list being finding Maester Cressen and informing him of his new patient.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

The talk with the maester had taken longer than Stannis had expected: yet it had taken him quite a while to explain and _insist_ to the older man that there _was_ another Tully daughter and she _had_ just been attacked, just outside of Storm’s End. Even with Stannis perseverance Maester Cressen had looked at him so sceptically, clearly starting to question Stannis’ sanity. – No matter how irritated he had been by the whole conversation he couldn’t help but now acknowledge that if someone had come to him with such a tale, he would have seen it as either a non-amusing jape, or that the person had spent to long drinking with Robert or that they were slightly touched.

With a sigh, Stannis figured that Cressen would see for himself – it seemed that certain things just needed to be seen to be believed.

 

With the matter dealt with, he was finally able to retreat to his solar.

Once reaching it, there was not only Eddard but also Ser Cortnay Penrose inside. The two men had clearly been in the midst of a discussion amongst themselves - most likely talking about the current incident, whilst they had waited for his appearance – by the look on the faces as well as their solemn postures by the window. Stannis could only assume that they had taken care of the horses and the game from hunt with the matters concerning his betrothed.

Both men rose from their seats, looking at him expectantly, upon Stannis entering.

 

Not knowing what else to say, Stannis addressed them: “Any news from Ser Astan and Ser Richard?”

With a small shake of the head, Eddard replied sombrely: “No, they have yet to return. We sent additional men from the keep upon our arrival; with any luck they will be able to assist... bring the ones responsible... and possibly bring any... any _bodies_ that need tending to.”

Reaching his chair, Stannis sunk in and let out another sigh of aggravation. Once more a sense of fury at himself and at the situation ran through him: first he could not guard his wife from being influenced by a wretch – the man even now still roaming free – and now his new affianced and her guards had been ambushed on his own property?! ...How had things progressed so?

A sense of helpless ran through him as Stannis rubbed a hand over his face and thought on his new bride once more. She had not spoken to him on the way to the castle, nor had she said anything before being lead up the stairs; Stannis had not failed to notice the panic and worry were still present in the lady’s eyes admits her curious study of his keep.

Pure or not, his wife or not, he would avenge the girl and protect her reputation.

Then another thought ran through him: but would he marry her?...

With his already growing doubts on Shireen’s parentage, Stannis could not have it called into question the parentage of any heir his second wife would give him. On the other hand, if he refused, would Lord Tully blame him that his daughter had been raped so close to Storm’s End? – Surely he could not be held accountable: he didn’t even know of the girl’s existence until _after_ the attack, let alone that she was arriving at his castle.

 

Teeth starting to grind, needing to do something, Stannis’ eyes travelled the room until he spied Lady Sansa Tully’s sac that one of the two men must have taken from Renly. Leaving his chair and moving swiftly to it, Stannis grabbed the bag up and placed it on to his desk. He was actually surprised how large it was compared to the lady; though it was also lighter than it appeared.

Before even possibly opening it, he studied it: it had several clasps in a matter he did not recognised – building his frustrations further. As for the main material of the bag, coloured in a dark blue, it seemed strong and fine yet not as sturdy and stiff as leather; closer to cloth used for hard wearing clothing.

Taking the time to properly study the larger two clasps, Stannis realised that one of the two parts could be pressed upon from both sides for the other part to ‘release’ it – _quite a clever contraption_ *. The two fastenings opened, he lifted the upper flap: underneath was a drawstring with an impossibly thin and silky rope, with another grip-clip keeping the string and bag opening closed.

By this time both Eddard and his castellan had moved forward, clearly also intrigued by the bag and its contents. All curious, Stannis pulled down on the grip, opening the bag, this actually leading him to open and close the pack several times; the whole of the sac seemed to have a set of quite remarkable ways of keeping it closed.

 

He was about to at last open the pack fully when a knock sounded at the door. Eyes moving promptly from the bag to the door, a small jolt ran through Stannis hoping it was Cressen with good news.

“Enter.”

When the door opened, however, it was not the maester but instead Ser Arstan Selmy, a strange look was on his face as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Stannis looked at him in anticipation. Unfortunately as the man’s gaze quickly met Stannis’ the look became even less reassuring; ater a quick nod of the head, Selmy stated without preamble:

“Lord Stannis. - I fear we have only mysteries to report: Ser Richard Horpe and I did a wide search of the area, rode as far as the large boulders in Griffin’s valley before the mountains, but did not find anything.”

The statement only gave Stannis a sinking feeling in his gut, but he allowed his man to move further into the room, before he asked with a frown:

“You found no sign of an attack anywhere?”

“ _None_. Even as we moved further and further away we still found _nothing_... and I really do mean _nothing_ : no bodies, no traces of blood or scuffle; there weren’t even marks on the ground that could be associated to any human or horse except for close to the trees where the lady was found.”

There was a small pause before the man added: “I am sorry my lord, I cannot explain it... The only reason I could think was our own horse covered the tracks left by others - but surely they would have crossed our path, or at least your younger brother’s?”

Stannis couldn’t explain it either. There _had_ been a struggle, he was sure of it: the marks on the girl’s body and clothes, her pale fearful complexion and overall weariness.

For a moment he let his mind wonder: he first thought of the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White, who were known to work in mysterious ways; - but surely they would have attacked in a different way and in any case they usually _killed_ , not left their intended victim against a tree. He then briefly wondered about the many rumours of sorcery from the different lands of Essos. Then had been stories of shadows being conjured by dark magic to do their master’s bidding; - but there again Lady Sansa had spoken of _men_ attacking her, _not_ shadows.

 

Stannis started pacing around room, feeling his men’s stares on him, whilst his mind whirled in frustration. Everything about the woman was a mystery: from her first appearance to her clothing to even her name.

Stannis glanced towards the door again, the unanswered questions giving him a headache. The aggravation continued until he remembered the bag. Turning to look back at it, not knowing what else to do, Stannis decided it might as well be best to continue examining it: hopefully would help alleviating some of the puzzle that was his betrothed.

 

Finally digging into the pack, he first pulled out a strange item: it was small and flat, easily fitting in his hand. One side was shiny black with the silhouette of a fruit – _apple? ...peach?..._ \- with a bite taken from it and the word ‘ _IPhone’_ printed beneath it. The other side, black glass, was almost mirror-like in its reflectivity. He shivered in trepidation. He had absolutely no idea what it was. A sense of unease running through him, Stannis decided not press any of the buttons, thinking it would perhaps be best for Lady Sansa Tully to explain and demonstrate how to use the item.

Pacing the item to Eddard, he reached inside the bag once more and took out a piece of clothing: a soft, possibly cotton, dark blue tunic. Stannis frowned, wondering once more as to the lady’s clothing choices and being quite certain he would not approve of her wearing anything that seemed more appropriate for men.

The third item he took out, had been placed efficiently against the back of the sac: wider and longer than the first object – the ‘ _IPhone’_ \- it had the same shiny bitten fruit as well as ‘ _IPad_ ’ written on the back, however this time on a shiny silver surface. The front still had the same black reflective glass matter. He couldn’t help but wonder what these two items were for, and why would someone need both: surely the larger one would suffice to look at ones reflection?

 

Placing the item on the desk, for his men to study, he then took out a small hard box. From its seam, Stannis easily opened it, and inside to find yet another curious item: two small rounded glass pieces attached together with a strong frame of sorts. Carefully taking it out, Stannis studied the object. From its form and design, the item had been obviously designed to be for the eyes: the glass pieces were tinted in such a way that Stannis assumed they were to protect ones eyes from rays of sun... they were even large enough to also be useful against a gust wind hitting the face. The frame holding the pieces of glass in place seemed sturdy enough, though Stannis couldn’t help but wonder why it had been imprinted with a mix of browns*. As for its expansion, it made him wonder if they were actually designed for Lady Tully: surely they would cover too much of her fac. ‘Opening’ the two strands either side of the frame, Stannis assumed that these were to help place the item on ones face, and ‘hook’ at the ears.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Stannis placed them on his own face, though quickly regretted it: the object had not been designed wide enough for his own face that it pressed uncomfortably at his temples and ears; that and the amused stares from his men. He had even spied his northern friend’s usually sombre face twitch in a small smile. - Feeling foolish, Stannis quickly removed them from his face.

 

His teeth grinding slightly from his embarrassment, Stannis set the piece aside and plucked out a tiny book, finely made from the sac. Opening it, he did not hold back a gasp when reaching the second page: his betrothed’s picture, so finely drawn it should have been impossible, stared back at him. The artist had been truly skilled: Lady Tully was smiling and beautiful in the tiny square, not a hint of fear or worry in the clear blue eyes that stared back at him.

Eddard leaned in to look, and murmured: “The work is amazing.”

Stannis only nodded in agreement, whilst his friend continued: “The artist would not have come cheap. Though why have the portrait set on paper in such a way?”

Stannis, himself, could not figure it out either.

His gaze moved from the image to the writing and tried to decipher it - the calligraphy was like none he had seen before:

 

_‘Passport’... ‘Westeros’... ‘Type: P’... ‘Issuing Country: WES’... ‘Passport No.: TR000509’_

_‘Surname: Tully’... ‘Given names: Sansa, Celia, Alyssa‘... ‘Nationality: Westerosi’..._

_‘Date of Birth: 24/02/71’... ‘Place of Birth: Riverrun, Riverlands’... ‘Sex: F’..._

_‘Date of Issue: 21/02/89’... ‘Date of Expiry: 21/02/99’_...

 

Underneath, there was another strange sequence of numbers at the bottom of the page that Stannis could not understand the meaning of. Frowning further, Stannis flipped through the rest of the book: there was an identical version of the text on the next pages in High Valyrian, Dothraki, Ibbenese and a fourth language he did not recognise, and the additional pages were blank except for a similar drawing faded into the paper, as it had been for the first pages.

Stannis could not fathom it: the document confirmed that she was a Tully, as well as give her name; though he did not understand why she had _several_ given names... It also confirmed that she had been born at Riverrun, and if he understood correctly she had been born in 271, which would make her seven-and-ten or eight-and-ten depending at what time in the year she had been born. This again posed the question: why had she not been married off to the Stark heir if she was clearly of age? He also couldn’t figure what the first number ‘ _24’_ meant.

Moreover, from the ‘ _Date of Issue’_ , he could only assume that the document had only been created recently: had it been made for her journey to him? Had it been made as proof for him of the girl’s identity, Hoster Tully realising that he would not have heard of his mysterious daughter before? - If this was the case it was rather ingenious as well as impressive, though Stannis did not understand why it needed to be written in other languages as well?... - Except if she had been hidden across the Narrow Sea? But that asked the question of _why_?

 

Stannis gave the book to Eddard and reached into the pack once more, this time finally pulling out something he recognized: paper. But even then the paper was unbelievably fine and the sheets bound together in a way he had never seen before.

From his side, Eddard spoke: “Do you think Tully sent these items with the lady, as part of her dowry? They must be a message of the esteem in which he holds you?... or a way to atone his first daughter’s dishonourable actions?”

Stannis nodded: he couldn’t help but agree and regardless of the unexplained way of his bride’s arrival, couldn’t help but feel relieved.

He opened the binding of paper, and found several sketches: mainly of dresses but of other clothes as well and unfortunately still of the same strange character as her travelling attire. Next to several drawings were accompanying notes, in a small stylish writing that Stannis assumed was his betrothed. Again, part of him was pleased that the lady seemed to be accomplished in both writing and drawing, however he couldn’t help but worry that she was planning on making all these strange outfits, their design and the cost of making so many not easing his mind.

 

As Ser Astan continued to study the ‘IPad’, Ser Cortnay looked at the glasses, and Eddard looked through the sketches, each occasionally making a comment, Stannis continued to search through the bag: it regrettably seemed that the lady did like her strange clothing, from the several odd tunics and shifts he identified. He even found another pair of strange breeches rather than the usual clothes a lady would wear. What raised even more questions was that several of the items had sometimes a strange pattern, or had buttons on their front, or had something written or drawn on the front: one had a mouth drawn in a rather crude fashion with the tongue sticking out*** – Stannis was certain no House had such a design as their sigil - another had written ‘ _Winter comes many times_...’ which had Stannis thinking of the Stark words: ‘ _Winter is coming’_ however he could not figure out why a variation would be written on a tunic?

Suddenly, his meandering through the bag, stopped as Stannis felt his cheeks and neck slightly tinge, as he realised what the next item his hand had found. He was more than thankful he had stopped taking out the clothes from the bag and had looked around them when he clearly recognised these as a certain type of ladies undergarments. Making sure they were enough inside the bag that none of the other men noticed them, Stannis couldn’t help but sneak peak, to determine them better: they seemed somewhere between elegant and delicate yet arresting. Most was in an intricate black lace which didn’t seem would leave much to the imagination. – No, s _eduction_ seemed to be the intended aim of the item. With a definite stir in his breeches, Stannis couldn’t help but wonder if it had been specifically designed for the lady’s wedding night?... They _were_ in one of his house’s colours.

Realising this was definitely not the time to have such thoughts, Stannis securely moved the item further back into the bag. - Perhaps he would continue looking through the rest of the bag once he was alone...?

 

However before he could give any more thought on the matter, a sudden scream - long, loud- that broke the quietness of the room. Before any of the men could comment, a second yelp, this time peppered with words no lady should know, filled the air.

Stannis scowled, his brows rose, as he glanced with his open-mouthed men. As for Eddard, he looked rather flushed, standing straight in attention, fiddling with his sword hilt awkwardly, something he did when nervous or upset.

Stannis couldn’t help but voice out loud his appalled thoughts: “Has the girl been raised in the barracks with a group of heathens?”

Surprisingly – or maybe not that surprising – Eddard quickly defended her:

“Lady Tully is obviously not herself. She has been frightened out of her wits; I am sure she will soon recover her usual... _delicate_ , womanly nature.”

Feeling somewhat contrite for having chastised the girl when he had been constantly telling himself not to judge her until he spoke to her, Stannis merely gave a small nod of agreement... and hoped his friend was right in both the reason and the result.

 

Thankfully no more cries or profanities came from the door, and the men waited once more for either the maester or Lady Tully herself to appear.

During this time, Stannis decided it best o return everything back inside the satchel – except for the ‘passport’ – as he thought it possible that the lady might not like that they had looked through it and seen her possible gifts to him as well as her strange clothes.

With nothing else to do he paced once more the length of the room, whilst the others made the occasional comment or remark. However Stannis rarely answered them: it would be useless to speculate and come to any really decisions on the matter before he could speak with his betrothed.

 

At long last, there was a brief knock on the oak door before it opened and Maester Cressen came in.

 _\- Finally_.

 

Never having felt so eager, Stannis strode toward the older man to meet with him at the centre of the room. Unable to hold back any longer, he asked, a small plea in his voice: “Well?”

A small reassuring smile appeared on Cressen’s face as he spoke: “She is a virgin still.”

Stannis’s breath left him, as elation filled him. She was a virgin; he still had his bride.

 

From behind him, Eddard slapped him on the back: “Congratulations.”

Whilst Ser Cortnay concurred: “It is good news, my lord.”

Ser Astan grinned: “She is very fair to look upon. Getting heirs off her would not be a hardship.”

Stannis waved a hand: “One healthy woman is as good as the next.”

 

Ignoring the scoffs, Stannis thoughts soon turned to the next step: no matter the state of her virtue, he would still assign a maid to follow the girl about, as well make sure Septa Baela kept the lady to agreeable activities, to keep an eye on her, aid her, but most especially to report back to him. There would be no hint of impropriety with this Tully bride.

His thoughts were interrupted by Cressen holding out a strange article of clothing Stannis recognized as the strange breeches the girl had worn. The old man pulled on a metal sliver at the front and the breeches magically sealed themselves. The hair rose on Stannis’s arms, before he took the clothing to examine it for himself, whilst the other men moved forward and Cressen spoke once more:

“Septa Baela suggested the... _breeches_ might be a form of chastity belt. – Although she has never come across a model like this one, she has seen several in her time as well as has heard of ladies to be compelled to wear one under their travel dresses and cloaks, especially when their journey might be dangerous.”

Stannis pulled the clasp down and up once more: “Ingenious.”

Ser Cortnay was visibly impressed: “It is a fine trick indeed.”

Eddard added in a serious tone: “And clever: if one did not know how to work the seam, it would be impossible to peel the garment off without a knife.”

Stannis remembered how tightly the breeches had formed to the girl’s body; it was possible that even a knife would not fit between her and the material. He gave a stiff nod: “One might have to kill her before ravishing her.”

Looking from the breeches to Stannis, Eddard added: “They knew their journey might bring trouble. – I cannot help but wonder the route they took... or if they did even travel from Riverrun? I also cannot help but think that when attacked, her outer robes must have been removed, but she was thankfully able to run for cover before they could try and remove more or figure the clasp...”

With a mirrored look of concern, Cressen added in a solemn tone:

“Lady Tully seemed most distraught when I came to treat and examine her. Septa Baela informed when I arrived to the chambers that her ladyship was most wary, even possibly frightened by the maids that had been sent to assist her undress, or even the mere action of undressing in front of them. This worried the septa gravely; she thought the girl had definitely been abused in some way... Moreover, the lady barely spoke: it was only when I informed her that I was to examine her that she spoke truly said anything and did in vehement protest. – Part of me wondered if she was ashamed of what might have happened to her.

Of course, I soon found that she had not been raped but I could clearly see the girl has had definitely had rather emotional trials – maybe it would be best to ask her your questions after she has rested?”

After a brief pause of uncertainty, Cressen then added: “There is another matter, my lord.”

Once more turned fully to the maester, his eyebrows rising in question: “Yes?”

“When examining the lady, I found a scar on her back. As it scar was clearly an old wound, I did not examine it too closely, and thought it best to not question Lady Tully straight then and there and possibly add to her distress. However, the scar is most strange; it looks as if her skin was pierced with a thin blade. It looks to have been deep, but it does not go through the other side. I have never seen any like it before; with your approval, I would like to ask Lady Tully if I could examine it and ask her the origin?”

 

\- Suddenly, just as Stannis was about to give his consent, the door burst wide open and his betrothed stormed in dressed in a proper gown that swirled about her in agitation as she moved downward. Once more Stannis was caught as how truly beautiful she was... and very, very _angry_ \- a fury that made him think of his own House words.

 

 

Evidently, Stannis was about to get the chance to voice his questions.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Stannis is describing a basic plastic buckle/ clasp
> 
> ** - Tortoise-shell sunglasses.
> 
> *** - Rolling Stones logo


	8. PART I, Chapter 7 - A Whirlwind of Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'start' of a conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Sarah_Black for helping me out with the scenes of this chapter and beta-reading through all my mistakes :)

 

 

When the door had slammed open and his betrothed had stormed in, all the voices and sounds around him had turned to bare whispers.

 

 _By the Seven Gods_... she was beautiful.

Stannis had never been one to stray on the study of a particular lady based on her looks – the topic more in line with his brother - and he truthfully believed that it did not matter what his wife looked like as long as her body and mind were able enough to give him strong healthy sons. Yet he was not dense to not have realised that for all her many faults Lysa _had_ been a comely bride. However in this particular moment, a small part of his brain could not help but thank the Mother and the Maiden that Lady Sansa Tully did not resemble her sister or at least not enough for the comparison in likeness to truly hold...

If it weren’t for the agitated manner of her entrance, and the clear fury in her eyes as she swept into the room, he might have compared her to an exceptionally brilliant bird that had fluttered in by mistake. But no, there appeared to be no mistake in her actions, she seemed as undeterred as a summer storm, all garbed in blue, her skirts flying about her, as she made the room look colourless and bleak by comparison, even the bright-golden tapestry that hung from the ceiling, embroidered with the Baratheon Stag. It was also the first time she was – _finally_ \- in proper lady’s wear and Stannis found her even more appealing than when she had been wearing the clothes that had not left much to the imagination.

However before anymore thoughts on the matter could create themselves in his mind or he could actually greet the lady in some way, or ask why she seemed so displeased, she made her way to him and –

\- _Smack_!

The gesture had been so unexpected that it took Stannis several moments to truly understand what had happened: his betrothed had struck him. - The looks of shock and incredulity on his men’s faces were only confirming the act further.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Sansa had never felt so angry, humiliated and violated in her entire life!

 

The maester guy had barely left the room before Sansa had basically moved as far away from the groping women as possible - not caring two shits for their gasps or appalled looks - bypassed the bath, grabbed the dress , her bra and underwear, and had proceeded to dress herself. Thankfully her hard look of cold fury to the women had the desired effect because none of them had said another word since, not even to offer to help her with the gown.

Of course, without any help, the dress had taken longer to put on and Sansa was pretty sure she hadn’t even properly closed it... just enough to not flash anyone and look decent enough to storm out of the room to give Mr Big and Muscly a piece of her mind.

She had honestly been torn between going to yell at him and storming out of the castle, but the anger had won out over her shame.

It was then that she had realised that she had no idea where to go; so, walking down the hall she had basically jumped on the first maid she found that had definitely not been in her chambers, and had asked her to bring her to ‘Lord Baratheon’ (– instead of requesting ‘ _Lord Ass-fuck_ ’ like she had wanted to say but had assumed the young girl would have been confused by this new name for her lord...).

The maid, even though clearly confused going by the look on her face, had thankfully lead Sansa to a higher floor, to stop in front of a large timber door, where muffled voices could be heard coming from inside.

 

Her heart pounding and her hands in fists to keep them from shaking, Sansa only allowed herself a brief gulp of air before she brought down the handle and pushed the door open full force, silently thanking the Gods that it hadn’t been locked.

Door swinging wide open, she swiftly stepped inside: the man she blamed for this entire debacle was standing in the centre of the room like he owned the place... well he mostly likely owned the place but that was not the point: the point was that he had utterly and completely assaulted her and if she wasn’t so enraged she would probably have burst into tears by now!

And she had thought him her saviour... a _'knight in shining armour_ '... - _ha_! – Lord of the Ass-fucks, more like!

And she also no longer had any doubt that she was wide awake: this was definitely NOT a dream! - There was nothing like an unwanted gynaecological exam to convince you.

But that seemed to be the only two things she was now sure of. She wasn’t sure where she was, the day was starting to blur together. How did she get here? No idea, someone along the way had probably drugged her somehow. Why did they give her an exam? Why did they give her such a beautiful Dragon Age dress only to abuse her before she could even out it on? Again, no idea.

 

Finally reaching Mr Lord of the Castle, her throat constricted and tears burned her eyes. Yes, he was big. Yes, he was intense. And yes, he looked kind of cute with the confused look on his face. But she hated him like poison now and wouldn’t be sidetracked. Righteous indignation running through her, she was determined –

- _Smack_!

Sansa had raised her hand and slapped his face as hard as she could, stinging her fingers.

She barely gave any mind to his mouth dropping open or his hand lifting to his cheek or the gasps coming from the others in the room. No, practically ignoring everything else but her rage, Sansa proceeded to poke his chest hard – hard enough to actually hurt her finger: “Just who,” – another hard poke – “do you” – third poke - “think you _are_?”

 

By now, especially with the poking, Lord Big and Muscly Ass seemed to have regained his senses and captured her hand with his. She tried to jerk hers away, angry that the big, warm, calloused hand was all but engulfing hers, but, the grip only tightened as he stared down at her, his eyes and voice hard as iron:

"My lady, I know this day has been trying for you but I would advise to take care in how you treat your lord.”

The threat was evident in both his words and his grip, not to mention the other men in the room, surrounding them.

However, Sansa’s rage was still too strong. She would not cower before him: “Oh, so I _am_ a lady now?... by the way you are having your staff treat me I was left to wonder.”

 

Her face burned further every moment she thought about what she had just been forced to suffer through. Granted she hadn’t actually been truly hurt, but the humiliation kept replaying itself in her mind; she sucked in a breath, and quickly added, before he could reply:

“At your _request_ , I was not only spied on by a rather large group of nosy voyeur women... but then I was _violated_! Violated by these same women and some old guy! – Sure he’s a doctor - sorry _maester_ \- but that does not mean he gets to examine _every_ crevice of my person! And not only that, but my jeans have been _stolen_... and my bag is missing! How dare they... how _they_ and. How. Dare. _You_?!” - Pocking him one more in the chest – “And _you_?!...” - Pointing to the maester guy, who she had just only noticed – “... and even all you other big b men; f-for going along with this?!” - Pointing and glaring to the rest of them, before looking back at Lord Big-and-Muscly-Ass – “ Truthfully, _Lord_ Baratheon, I will _only_ treat you with the respect of a lord when your actions deserve my respect!”

Of course, frustratingly, her voice cracked near the end and Sansa bit her lower lip to stop herself from whimpering. She was amidst trying to stop the tears that were threatening to form in her eyes when she noticed the item dangling carelessly in Lord Baratheon’s other hand: _her_ jeans.

Actually glad for the new fury running through her, Sansa growled as she yanked her hand out of his, and grabbed her jeans. She was about to yell at him some more, when her eyes recognised a shape beyond him. Disbelief had her jaw dropping: “My bag!?! – _You_ have my backpack?!...”

Rushing to the big table, she then realised in horror: “You’ve looked through my backpack! You’ve looked at my passport!”

Feeling lightheaded, Sansa grabbed up her pack and passport, before facing ‘ _Lord Baratheon_ _and Co._ ’: “This is _my_ stuff. _Mine_! - Do none of you have a decent bone in your body?! Or is it for your amusement that you want to make my humiliation and violation of my person _complete_?!”

She slung the bag over one shoulder. She needed to get out of there, since clearly she was just not equipped to handle this situation: she had never felt so debased and degraded in her life, and this time she was unable to stop the quiver in her voice as she stated:

“Y-you...you are _worse_ than the men who actually chased and attacked me!”

Feeling the tears were close, she moved to the door.

 

Unfortunately, she had barely gone two steps before Lord Big-and-Muscly-Ass also moved and caught her by the arm.

The events of the day slowly crashing down around her, with the silent tears starting to stream down her face like they would never come to an end, Sansa used everything she had left of anger and energy to knock his hand off her arm:

“ _No_! You will _n-not_ touch me, nor will you instruct anyone else to do so! You hear me?! - I am a human being and I will be treated as such, not like some bloody... bloody _something_... to be honest no animal should be treated how I have just been!!”

At the statement, Lord Baratheon’s face went blank, the others still looking at her incredulously, but by now Sansa did not care what any of them did. She shoved past him back into the corridor, where the young woman who had brought her here was still standing –looking at Sansa with a mix of awe and dread.

 

Realising in frustration that she still had no idea how to move about the large castle, Sansa addressed the woman once more:

“Please lead me to my chambers.”

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

With the door slamming behind Lady Tully, Stannis was rendered utterly speechless.

 

No one ever questioned him or his actions. But this went beyond a mere infraction: he had never been treated thus. - Lady Tully had _struck_ him, yelled at him and his men, and had even questioned their _honour_ and _integrity_. She had even compared them to the men who had actually attacked her! He had never witnessed _anyone_ – particularly not a highborn lady – condemn another person in such a manner, especially not a lord in his own home.

Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if Cressen had forgot to check her head for injuries when he had examined her? Another part couldn’t help feel rising frustration: was it too much to ask for one decent betrothed?! The first one had run off with another man, the second had let herself be seduced by man _after_ the vows had been spoken, and now a violent, possibly broken one? Was he to have no luck in begetting a healthy heir? – At least her flaws seemed to be more manageable than infidelity and attempted murder.

It had taken him quite a few moments to understand the source of her anger: the violation of her privacy. He forced himself to recognise that _yes_ \- the day must have been trying on the lady; the tears and the hurt mixed in with the anger had been more than evident in her eyes, as well as in the quiver of her voice. – By the Gods, when she had wrenched herself from him, at the sight of those tears... Unbidden feelings had struck him with a suddenness that was like a fist in the gut. In that moment he had also realized something else: her sharp words and bravado were more a façade to hide how terrified she truly was – _terrified_ of _him_ and what he might do next. With that the attack to his person had been complete: did she truly see him a monster from the Seven Hells?

Yet, most of him was still very much confused and angered by the vehemence of her words and actions. What in his own instructions and actions had lead her to think so ill of him and his household? All that he had done would have been expected of any lord in a similar situation; others might have taken it further and insisted on being present for the examination. The only thing that might have been poorly done on his part had been looking through her satchel without her present. But surely Lady Tully could not condone Stannis from trying to find out more about her: she was _his_ betrothed. - She was his to take care of and decide what was best for her... As for the maids and the bath, he did not understand why the lady would be so against them? Nevertheless, he supposed he would have to speak with Septa Baela on how they had treated the lady.

 

He could feel his men’s eyes on him, mostly likely waiting for his reaction before allowing themselves to speak or act. Even Cressen seemed more than eager to speak, but at this moment the maester seemed to be waiting, determining what Stannis was going to do to break the strange stillness of the room that Lady Tully had left in her wake.

Frustrated, Stannis shook his head: he needed to get answers - answers from _Lady Tully_ \- before speaking to anyone else or making any rash decisions. Going over all the ways that his men and he felt slighted by the lady or other thoughts on the lady was definitely not going to facilitate the task. – Yet that was not likely to happen now that she was no longer in the solar. All the more determined - especially realising that he had not given her leave to go - Stannis moved at a firm pace to the door and out of his solar towards the lady’s rooms.

She had whirled into his solar like an avenging storm striking hard and with full force. But she had yet to know that Storm’s End and its lord held strong against _any_ attack.

 

Once in the hall, Stannis noticed a shadow move right behind him – _Eddard_ – but he did not comment. He was not sure if his friend was following him to make sure that Stannis did not act in anger on the lady or to make sure the lady did not try and hit Stannis again... or if it was simply his sense of propriety at work, making him unable to allow any man to be alone in a room with his betrothed.

Finally arriving in front of Lady Tully’s chamber’s door, he was tempted to simply enter the room. However, especially remembering her accusations of treating her worse than an animal, Stannis forced himself to compose himself. – He straightened his spine with long breath ,and with a slight tug of his doublet, he proceeded to knock on the door.

 

There was a small pause before he heard a faint “ _Enter_ ” call out from the other side.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find the room in semi-darkness, none of the candles having been lit – or maybe Lady Tully having blown them all out.

His eyes scanning the room, he soon found her sitting on the windowsill, looking out.

Leaning slightly against the wall, she looked utterly dejected and small, folded on herself. With the evening light outside, he could see the trails of moisture glistening against her pale cheek, her anger having been replaced with tears. She did not even make the effort to hide them as others might have done.

One more Stannis felt unwanted feelings ran through him quite abruptly. She looked so small and pale against the outside glow, fragile as a small bird would. She roused confusing, conflicting instincts in him, urges to reprimand yet protect, to—

 

\- Not even turning to face him, an even softer – _defeated_ \- voice spoke: “What do you want? Have you come to humiliate and violate me some more?”

Forcing himself once more to remain calm despite the barb, Stannis moved a few steps toward the lady and tried to keep his tone firm but gentle so as not to upset her further:

“My lady, I... I to express my sincere regret for having offended you in some way, it was truly not my intent. However I will not apologise for my actions: as your lord, I had to ensure that you had not been abused, that your virginity remained intact.”

At the statement, she turned from the widow, to look at him. Her face now half in the shadows of the room, Stannis could still see the tear lines as well as the newly revealed bewilderment; with the remains of her earlier anger, she stammered: “M-my virginity...?! How does my _virginity_ have anything to do with _anything_?!”

 

It was now Stannis turn to be confused and affronted – was her mind truly damaged? – before stating the obvious:

“As your betrothed, it is my right to establish your virginity.”

 


	9. PART I, Chapter 8 - An Unwelcome Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... the discussion continues... as well as the confusions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... ok... still going mental with all my hand-ins that I needed a break from them, so decided to work on this next chapter. - Chapter was getting really long so unfortunately decided to cut it in 2, but hopefully it its not to confusing and you like this first part :)
> 
> Forgot to say a HUGE TAHNK YOU to Sarah_Black for continuing to beta-read as well as help me develop with story :) (as well as give us very entertaining smutty stories ;) )

 

Everything seemed so calm outside.

 

With only a few clouds present, one could truly admire the glowing colours of the setting sun. There were even only a few ripples in the water below, allowing the bay to reflect and further enhance the beauty of the evening sky. Yet Sansa barely acknowledged, let alone appreciated the atypical scenery of Storm’s End and Shipbreaker Bay. - It mirrored none of the torment that was going through her.

She could feel the tears silently sliding down her cheeks, but made no movement to stop them.

She had never felt more truly alone than in this moment.

As she had yelled at Lord Baratheon she had realised more and more that if she _was_ in the past, more specifically in the Dragon Age – more than a thousand years in the past – which meant that she had just lost _everything_. It was as if her whole life had just been _erased_. Everyone she knew, all the places she had been... it was all just memories now... she only had her memories and her backpack.

A small voice - a _glimmer_ _of hope_ \- in the back of her mind repeated that she would find her way home but the gloom was taking over. The worse day of her life was when her father died. As the reality of her situation continued to sink in more and more this day seemed to become close second. In all likelyhood she would never see the rest of her family ever again. In addition, what made this situation all the more daunting/--- was the fact that there wasn’t even anyone to technically mourn: no one was dead; they just hadn't been born yet, not for another 1700 years. – Even so, she still felt a similar emptiness to when her father and then her mother had died.

She wondered where they all were: had Arya and Gendry arrived at Storm’s End as well, but many, many years later, not finding her? Were they searching for her? Did her aunt and uncle know that she was missing?... her grandparents?... Jon and Stann and Jeyne?... What would they do when they could not find her?-

 

- _knock, knock_...

 

The sudden interruption at the door brought her back to the here and now.

Too tired to object, she sighed and murmured a defeated: “enter.”

It seemed that her voice had been loud enough for whomever was on the other side, because the door soon opened. However, instead of the maid like she had assumed, from the corner of her eye Sansa identified Lord Baratheon’s large form coming into the darkened room. He was closely followed by a second slightly smaller - but intimidating all the same - figure that Sansa could only assume was her ancestor.

As they moved further into the space, she thought back to the conversation she had had with Lord Baratheon. Well _conversation_ might not be the right word: it _had_ mainly just been her yelling at him and his men. Part of Sansa knew that she shouldn't have hit him and that he was been her scapegoat for all the torments of her day; a source to all her anger, fears and distress. - Even if some of her accusations were justified, others weren't: she couldn't really blame him for her being attacked in the first place or being transported 1700 years into the past.

Nonetheless, she didn’t bother to turn her head and greet them or apologise, but instead felt a certain level of bitterness run through her as she mumbled:

“What do you want? Have you come to humiliate and violate me some more?”

To be perfectly honest, most of her was past caring for the answer: it wouldn’t actually change much anyways, even if he was here to question her or look through her possessions some more... she would still be stuck in the past, stuck in this _hellhole_ , far from everything dear to her.

She did notice his body stiffen slightly at the accusation though, before he moved closer to her. She was actually surprised a few moments later when he spoke and the tone of his voice was noticeably much calmer than earlier, even though she had hit him and continued to censure him:

“My lady, I... I to express my sincere regret for having offended you in some way, it was truly not my intent. However I will not apologise for my actions: as your lord, I had to ensure that you had not been abused, that your virginity remained intact.”

 

Not entirely sure she had heard him correctly – _hoping_ she hadn’t heard him correctly – Sansa’s head instantly snapped her head from the outside view, to face him.

But no she had heard correctly, she was sure of it. The expression of self-entitled jack-ass on Lord Big and Muscly’s face only confirmed it further.

 _What the_...?

Whatever she had been expecting was definitely not this. Why the fuck did he care that she was a virgin? Were _all_ men this _nosy_ in the Dragon Age?

She didn’t try to calm the anger in her voice as she spluttered: “M-my virginity...?! How does my _virginity_ have anything to do with _anything_?!”

Now properly facing him she clearly noticed the confusion and irritation in his eyes. His deep voice rumbled, seeming to wrap itself around her as he replied bluntly:

“As your betrothed, it is my right to establish your virginity.”

Sansa blinked several times, mouth gaping: _betrothed_? – _Seriously_?! -... instead of travelling back in time, Sansa wondered if she had actually been transported to some fucked up alternate reality: a Twilight Zone type place?... or if she was against all logic actually in a coma. - _This definitely is a dream right?... it **has** to be a dream; I mean only in dreams does this sort of thing happen right?_...

Throat tight, face definitely paling, she needed more explanation to his not at all reassuring answer: “B-betrothed?... As in engaged... to be _married_? To _you_?”

Unfortunately things didn’t seem to be looking up, as she noticed Lord Baratheon’s confused frown had developed to a proper scowl – especially when she had emphasised on the ‘to you’. With a stiff nod, he confirmed her dread:

“ _Yes_ – a union between our two Houses through matrimony has been agreed upon; - more specifically through the marriage of you, my lady, and _myself_. Your lord father confirmed as much in his last correspondence.”

Sansa first wanted to retort that her father was dead, but thankfully was able to hold her tongue. Instead she was reminded that in this time, addition to apparently having a ‘ _lord_ _father’_ she also had two ‘sisters’ – one of which was suppose to be the one marrying Lord Big and Muscly... _not_ her... definitely _not_ _her_.

Feeling even more lost and confused, Sansa returned: “...what... what about my sisters?... Are you not suppose to marry one of them?...That’s... that’s what suppose to happen...” – _That’s what I remember Grand-Pa Ben saying_...

Looking around the room for the missing women, now wishing that they were here, she continued: “ _Where_ are my sisters?... why are _they_ not here?”

Scowl definitely firmly in place, Lord Baratheon replied: “I _did_ marry your sister; Lady Lysa and I married six years ago...” At the reply, the slightest sense relief washed over Sansa. Unfortunately it was just as quickly crushed by: “...she died.” 

“ _Died_...? My sister is dead?”

Possibly confused by her lack of emotion by the news, or the fact that she didn’t know that her sister was dead (– she couldn’t well tell them that she had never met this Lysa Tully... let alone that she was not her sister-) both men looked at her in bewilderment, before understanding seemed to appear on Lord Eddard Stark’s face, leading him to ask:

“My lady – during his examination, did Maester Cressen check if your head had been injured?... Did you possibly hit your head when you were attacked?”

Her hand automatically moved to her scalp, her fingertips softly pressing different areas below her hair: “I-I... I... don’t know... I don’t think so....”

With Lord Stark’s question as well as her reply, Sansa realised that in her rage and humiliation she had forgot to plead amnesia... Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all: – she had _forgot_ to say that she had _amnesia_ to help explain her odd existence and behaviour... _Oh the irony – Arya would laugh at that_.

 

 _Well there is no better time than the present_ – pulling all her acting skills, she repeated in an even more confused voice - laying it on rather thick -: “... I don’t know... I don’t... _remember_...”

Looking even more concerned, Eddard Stark asked in an even softer voice: “My lady... What do you remember? - Do you remember why you came to Storms’ End?...”

Large eyes going between the two men, she tried to think of an appropriate response:

“When I woke, I didn’t remember much... just ‘Storm’s End’... and that it was my destination. But I couldn’t remember why I was going there...”

This time it was Lord Baratheon who spoke, though, unlike his companion, Sansa could tell that that his impatience with the whole situation was growing and that he was clearly trying hard to remain calm:

“Tell us what you _do_ remember?”

Sansa automatically replied: “My name: Sansa Tully, and that I was going to Storm’s End.”

Unfortunately, this definitely did not seem to be enough for Lord Big and Muscly, since his scowl only grew as his dark blue eyes glared into her own.

“I don’t just mean right when you woke up. - What do you remember of the events of the day? Of your attack? Of your life?... your family? Where you grew up?... people you knew?”

Sansa tried to quickly think of something acceptable to answer. - She needed to stick to at least partial truths: Arya had always said she was a shit liar, but at least Sansa knew that any good lie... or story had always some basis of ‘ _truth’_. A little uncertain she ultimately said the first thing that came to mind:

“I had a... companion... Arya, she was with me... travelling with me. B-but we got separated.”

“What about your guards: the men escorting you? – Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Astan Selmy found no one when they searched the area.”

 _Oh_ _crap_... - Of course, travelling as a lady from a Great House it would only be logical that she would have guards to protect her. Sansa once more tried to think on the reply, but unfortunately only the name of known actors from some of her favourite films came to mind:

“ _Umm_... Sean... I mean _Ser_ Sean Connery, Ser Roger Moore, Ser Ian Mckellen and Ser Michael Gambon... they were my escorts... but I don’t know where they are... where they went... they just told me to ‘ _run’_ when we were attacked...” _\- Gods... I just most likely killed two James Bonds, Gandalf and Dumbledore in one swoop; Jon and Stann would be horrified..._

At the list of names that they obviously would not recognise for another 1700 years, both men’s brows scrunched. Thankfully however they seemed to find the answer somewhat acceptable as Lord Baratheon ultimately gave a small nod.

Still, not wanting to delve further into her lack of a retinue, Sansa went back to the much more important topic: “So... if what you’re saying is true: my sister,... Lysa, is now dead.... but that... that does not explain why you think _we_ are engaged?”

There was definite irritation in his voice when Lord Baratheon automatically replied: “We _are_ engaged- _betrothed_.”

Sansa couldn’t help but protest – no offense, but she definitely was not ready to marry anyone, especially not someone so bossy, nosy... and grumpy: “But... surely... surely we _can’t_ marry?!... not yet?... should we not wait till I’m old enough?”

Lord Baratheon blinked: “And how _old_ are you, my lady?”

 _Ahhhh shit_! – _How young would be too young_?

“Seventeen?...”- _eighteen actually_...

Unfortunately quickly Sansa realised that she hadn’t gone low enough, as Lord Baratheon scoffed drily:

“Seven-and-ten! – You are definitely of age: you have been a woman grown for the last year."

\- _Well don't I feel 'fully grown' and special_...

 

After a slight glare from the other man, he calmed his voice, as he added:

“However, I must admit that it _had_ been my understanding that I was to marry Lady Catelyn Tully. Though she is even younger than yourself, not even four-and-ten yet. Surely this only validates further that _you_ are _my_ betrothed and not her.”

 

_Catelyn Tully... – the other Tully woman._

 

With the reply, the shock that Lord Big and Muscly had been prepared to marry a girl that was only _thirteen_ years old was actually replaced by more confusion and even more troubling information, with more dire consequences for Sansa’s very existence, leading her to grimace in confusion:

“Catelyn isn’t supposed to marry you; she’s supposed to marry _him_.”– pointing to the other man in the room, her _ancestor_.

Both men’s eyes widened at the statement, before the frowns reappeared; Lord Baratheon looking over at Eddard Stark, whilst the northerner, calmly, a tone not too different to one you would use on a child, spoke to Sansa:

“Surely you mean my older brother, Ser Brandon Stark?”

 _Oh – shit..._ _Eddard Stark had -_ **_has_** _an older brother..._ _Wait: does that mean that this_ _‘Brandon_ _Stark’ is going to die at some point before his marriage?_ _But that he isn’t dead yet?_...

Well she couldn’t really tell him that his brother was going to die, now could she...:

“ _H-hum_ yes... yes... I thought you were him... I thought you were... y-you were the Stark heir...”

This unfortunately raised another question from Lord Baratheon:

“Why are _you_ not married to Ser Brandon Stark?”

Sansa lost her patience - _this is getting ridiculous_!:

“I’m not supposed to marry anybody! Not you! Not his brother!... _No one_!... Do you understand? _Noooo oneee_...Not even the Father himself! – and for that matter, if my sister is actually going to marry Ser Brandon, why did you believe that you were engaged to her, and now think that we are engaged?! – You already had your Tully bride! And now you want another one?! - Aren’t you just being a little greedy now? Shouldn’t you let someone else marry one?”

 

At the verbal abuse, there was a small pause where Lord Baratheon blinked several times, before his face turned to the biggest glare Sansa had ever seen.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Stannis couldn’t believe any of this was actually happening.

 

He had never had felt comfortable around women; he had never understood them, with their strange thoughts and interests, as well as odd actions. His first wife had definitely not improved his opinion of them, even before she had tried to poison him. Lysa had been a hard woman to please, as well as seeming to be quite a _vain_ woman. - But this was definitely the strangest moment he had had with any female in his whole life. Like the previous one, this conversation was definitely not going the way he had hoped. He couldn’t believe that he was now _actually_ trying to explain to his betrothed why he had made sure of her virtue and why they were now engaged?! Moreover, that the lady had no interest in getting married; not only to him, but to anyone! And in addition to all this, she was actually accusing him of being _greedy_!

Stannis had to acknowledge that he was only slightly surprised that Lord Tully had not told his second daughter of her sister’s dishonourable actions. Not that he would be the one to inform her that Lysa had not only tried to poison him, but that she had let herself be seduced by another man. – No, it would be best to keep the events surrounding Lysa’s death from his new betrothed. Stannis definitely did not want the information to possibly incur trouble in his second marriage... not that it really going well so far...

Truthfully, Stannis was more interested in going back to more pressing matters than try to explain to a lady of a noble house her basic duties to marry and produce heirs, but still gave Lady Sansa a partial truth as to why she was marrying _him_ , his voice tight:

“My lady, there is no question of me being ‘ _greedy’_ or not: your sister failed to give me an heir.” – _Instead she killed him..._ – “Having failed in her primary duty, as well as the fact that we live in very uncertain times, _Lord Tully_ agreed to strengthen our alliance through a second marriage between the Riverlands and the Stormlands. It is not your place to question _your_ own lord father’s directive.”

Stannis did not give her a chance to reply. Before she could answer or, more likely brazenly ask him further ridiculous questions, he questioned her this time on the mystery of _her_ :

“My lady – the fact is: your father has agreed to the alliance, and you were sent to Storm’s End. Whether your father failed to mention the reason why you were sent here or that the blow to your head made you forget, that is not my concern. You only need to know this: whether you like it or not we _are_ betrothed and will soon marry. – Now that that is settled, I would like answers from _you;_ the first of which being that until today, neither I nor anyone in this castle had no knowledge of your existence: how did _that_ come to pass?”

 

**. . .**

 

 

With all the different events of the day, Sansa was emotionally wrecked: confused, scared, tired, humiliated... the list went on...

 

She was also definitely not happy in suddenly finding herself engaged – especially someone who seemed utterly unreasonable... bossy... grumpy...

However something else sat even less well with her: if nothing else, before and during Lord Big and Muscly speech, she had realised two very crucial things: _number 1_ \- until recently, it was more than likely that Catelyn Tully had been engaged to Brandon Stark (-even though she was only _13!_ \- ), but, _number 2_ \- for some reason, with the death of Lysa Tully, Catelyn Tully was now engaged to Lord Big and Muscly...

Both cases did not sit well at all with Sansa.

First being that this meant that right now, at this very moment, Catelyn Tully and her father were most likely headed to Storm’s End for her wedding to Lord Baratheon; - since they obviously did not know that another Tully had ‘miraculously appeared’.

The second reason these troubled Sansa greatly was the fact that it seemed that she might have fallen in some kind of Dragon Age version of _Back to the Future._ – Sansa was one hundred percent certain, from what she remembered from History class and from Grand-Pa Ben, that Stannis Baratheon had married _one_ Tully bride and that Eddard Stark had married the other. However, as of right now, Lord Big and Muscly was already planning to change this timeline by marrying a _second_ Tully bride... – Not good at all.

One thing she had definitely learnt from Marty Mcfly was that if _Eddard Stark_ did not marry _Catelyn Tully_ , well, _waaayyyyy_ down the line, her- _Sansa_ – might cease to exist: she would start to disappear or something... So if nothing else, Catelyn Tully needed to marry Eddard Stark ... not Stannis Baratheon... not Brandon Stark...

 

Quickly thinking all this over, Sansa decided it might be best to at least make Lord Baratheon _believe_ that he was marrying her, and not Catelyn Tully. – If nothing else, this in some way meant that Catelyn Tully was neither engaged to Lord Baratheon or Brandon Stark, which was definitely the way it should be...

Hopefully by the time Catelyn arrived at Storm’s End, Brandon might have died... or more positive, married someone else (-hopefully a little older than thirteen)...and Sansa would have found some way for Eddard Stark to be the one to marry Catelyn and not Stannis Baratheon... oh and for her to find a way back to the future and not marry anyone...

 

\- _yep: definite good plan_...

 

...And now to answer Lord Big and Muscly’s last question...

Thankfully for this, Lord Baratheon’s previous statements actually worked with her original ‘story’ as to her sudden appearance as well as the fact that she might not know everything happening in Westeros.

 

Sighing, going back to her very minimal acting skills, she shifted awkwardly, as she looked at the floor:

“I... Well... previously acknowledged, there are certain... things that I don’t remember, but the reason I am slightly sceptical on this whole marriage business is the fact that I have been in a motherhouse* for most of my life.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- In ASOIAF, the convents for septas are called "motherhouses"; these include a large one in Oldtown and another in Bechester.


	10. PART I, Chapter 9 - Lady Tully's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation continues... as does some clarity... but mainly more confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another break from the craziness was needed, so decided to finish their convo ;) - Hope you like

 

 

Stannis blinked, as his puzzlement grew tenfold: “... A _motherhood_?”

 

Whatever he had been expecting to come out of Lady Tully’s mouth it wasn’t this. - Why did there seem to be a constant mystery surrounding this woman?

Whatever the reason for the lady for being in a motherhouse for most of her life – and he would have the reason, _very soon hopefully_ -, he couldn’t help but speculate if Lord Tully hoped a more pious bride would calm some of Stannis’ ire?

 

The lady in question shifted awkwardly, her gaze drifting to her slim-delicate fingers wriggling together, confirmed her previous statement:

“Y-yes... a motherhouse.”

 

**. . .**

 

From the odd tone and the gaping look on both men’s faces, evidently they had not at all been expecting this answer. – **_Good_** _, best to keep them on their toes: shock them as they **shocked** me. Though, as I am from a different time - 1700 years in the future - , there will probably many more times that this will happen_...

 

Stalling somewhat, quickly trying strengthening her story in her head, Sansa gave a shy nod of the head, as she continued to tangle her hands together:

“... the maester... the maetser who... _examined_ me - Maester Cressen correct?”

– she did bother to stop the soft growl in her voice in the word ‘ _examine_ ’: the event was still very much too etched in her mind as well as felt on her skin... or between her thighs; no matter what ‘care’ the maetser had taken during the exam.

Lord Baratheon gave a nod: “Yes – Maester _Cressen_ is the maester of this castle; the one who treated your injuries.”

Forcing her irritation that Lord Big and Muscly _still_ felt no shame in the inspection he had ordered on her person and her _virginity_ , Sansa forced another small nod, before continuing with her ' _story'_ : “Well... did Maester Cressen inform you of the scar on my back?”

Thankfully, once more, Lord Baratheon replied positive: “He did.”

“...good... well... the fact is that... _Umm_... I haven’t lived in Riverrun since I was six... ever since I received this scar. - I have been in a _motherhood_ since then.”

There was a small pause, before Lord Baratheon pressed: “Go on.”

“... The fact is that ever since my birth I faced death: being so small and quiet – _too_ small and quiet for a newborn baby - , for the first few months after my birth, I was... _entrusted_ to masters. Many thought that I would not survive my first year. There was also the fact that my birth had greatly strained my mother...”

– _I_ a _ctually stayed in the hospital, in the intensive care unit for over a month..._

... _and now for the exaggerating bit... hopefully having watched so many TV shows dramas will be helpful_...

 

“... Even after those first months, my childhood proved to be very... _troubled_. Growing up, I had to always be careful in everything I did, where I went... Even though I had survived infancy, I still was ... _frail_ ; I would get the chill sooner than others as well as bruise more easily.”

Thinking on her only time she had actually visited the old Riverrun Castle, Sansa added: “Needless to say, living a castle – walls made out of stone, with so many steps between the many levels and towers, as well as being in one surrounded by all sides by water - was possibly not the best option... Which is when at the age of six, I... I was... _injured_...”

 

Her throat tightened here. No matter the elements of fiction in her story, for this part, even now years later, Sansa couldn’t stop herself from hoping it _was_ fiction and wasn’t actually her past. – _If only that were true_...

 

The pause obviously had gone on for too long, as Lord Big and Muscly pressed her forth, clearly wanting more information: “... Injured?”

Under his forced encouragement, Sansa gave a tight gulp, her eyes momentarily closing before she shared only a small piece of the most painful period of her life:

“I was injured – _gravelly_ injured...” – _Shot... close-range_ – “Hence the scar. The wound was so _critical_... so _deep_ and _extensive_... I was weak for so long; for the second time in my life people believed I was going to die. However, also for the second time, I survived. When I was finally recovered enough from the wound, I was sent to a motherhouse, to be in a safer - less _strenuous_ environment - away from outside threats...” – _Actually sent to Winterfell to live with my aunt and uncle._

 

At her last words, there was another long moment of silence for which Sansa was grateful. She was thankful that Lord Big and Muscly was not as unreasonable and brutish as some of his previous actions had lead her to believe.

 

With all that had happened on this day, with these mournful memories in her head, Sansa then couldn’t help but whisper – _insist_ – even with her thoughts on the possible future (Back to the Future) repercussions: “I was never supposed to marry” – _Well at least not now and not to a stranger from the Dragon Age_...

As she continued to talk, she became further inspired: “... in more recent years, I have gotten better, lived a more or less normal life...” – _well a normal **Twentieth Century** life_ – “... Living the whole time in the motherhouse, surrounded by septas and the Gods, I was planning to become a... silent sister*. – I was never supposed to marry; I have fought more than half my life against death, so I thought it best to welcome the Stranger as his bride... Even today I escaped death once more...”

At the statement, she noticed Lord Baratheon’s scowl reappear. Nevertheless, she continued:

“My younger sister is not even _fourteen_. – I still have a few blanks from the blow to my head, but I can only assume that being older and my father not wanting to force my sister into marriage when she is still a _child_ , my Lord father thought it best you ask me to relinquish my aspirations to the sisterhood...”

Looking straight at her ‘ _betrothed’_ , Sansa added: “However, even if certain things might be still blurry, I am quite certain of at least one thing: that men are not above the Gods;   _No -_ _no man_ can _force_ a woman... _stop_ a woman from taking her vows.”

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis had seen the sorrow in her eyes as she had told her tale.

 

From the narrative he couldn’t help but be shocked by Lord Tully’s actions and decisions, regarding his own daughter. On the other hand, he could understand the man’s constant fear that his daughter might die if not surrounded by the best care, no matter if it meant being parted from her.

Yet, studying her further, he also couldn’t help but think it would be a great a shame for such a beautiful, passionate young lady to become a bride of the Stranger.

Did she not know – realise even by her own continued sufferings through life – that _if_ the Gods truly existed they were only cruel monsters, who played with the lives of mortals?*

– _No._

She would _not_ becomes a silent sister, she would become _his_ ; he was definitely going to marry her, no matter what she thought.

 

It also seemed that the lady had been cured from her childhood ailments and frailty. Standing in front of him now, as well as her past comportment of the day - especially in his solar - Lady Tully definitely gave no indication to possible past meekness. If the lady had not divulged such a troubling tale, Stannis would never have thought it a possibility studying at her now.

Somewhat relieved that he did not have a possible weak wife to give him his future sons, Stannis however couldn’t help but wonder **_when_** she had found herself cured though? As well as wonder further on all the secrecy surrounding this Tully lady?

When he was still in the Vale and still betrothed to Eddard’s sister, Lord Arryn had told Eddard and himself of rumours of Lord Tully trying to arrange a possible marriage between Lord Lannister’s heir and one of the Tully daughters. Since Lysa at the time was betrothed to Eddard’s older brother, he had only assumed it had been with Lady Catelyn although she would have barely been five. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if the possible marriage was to have been between the - at the time - four-and-ten year old squire and an eight year old Sansa Tully. - Of course none of this had come to pass as the King had named the Lannister heir part of his Kingsguard, a little over a year later. When this betrothal had fallen through and that with no other heirs from Great Houses needing a wife – except for the Lannister dwarf - Lord Tully might have thought it best to continue to leave his daughter in the hands of septas and the faith, taking care of her still existing frail disposition.

He also couldn’t help but question if, in later years as the lady had grown and flowered, Lord Tully had kept her hidden for other reasons: ... if he had possibly kept her hidden also because of His Grace, King Aerys? – Most lords in the last years continued to hear troubling tales of the king’s irrational actions as well as his questionable mind... these same lords might have heard like Stannis of his Grace’s actions to his own sister-wife during these moments of frenzy, as well as how he had reacted after Queen Rhaella had died giving birth to the princess...

... And beautiful maidens with unusual traits were easy sources to curiosity and further rumours and gossip.

 

The any mysteries and possibilities circled in his mind.

He was able to stop himself from rubbing his face in frustration, but did let out a small sigh: ... Women definitely had a way of complicating things.

 

However, with the day having been long and trying, the lady emotional, he forced himself to use a calm voice as he finally answered her after a long moment:

“My Lady Tully, I am sorry to hear of your troubled childhood, as well as the continued agony and pain you still witness even on this day, but if all you say is true, it seems to me the Seven must have other plan for you: the Stranger is constantly _rejecting_ you.”

He noticed her open her mouth, ready to protest, but he held his hand up in warning:

“Whatever you believe my lady, you _are_ from a great House, the daughter to the Lord Paramount of the Trident. You own House words are ‘ _Family, Duty, Honour_ ’. For myself: I never asked to be a man... a lord... to be my lord father’s heir, no more than I asked for my father to die soon for me to become lord of one of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, did I dare disregard what I knew? _What_ I was? _Who_ I was? - We do not choose our destinies, my lady. Yet we must ... we must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty.”

By the look on her face, clearly still not convinced, Stannis insisted with a different tactic:

“You are still young my lady: – too young to have lived away from your own family, too young for your own body to betray you... But you have survived these instances _stronger_. Even if one looked beyond past your duty, surely you would want a family of your own... _children_ of your own now that you are finally cured.”- _My heir and possible spares_...

“... However _fulfilling_ you believe being a silent sister might be, you have yet to know the world outside of your motherhouse. I can also assure you it can also become quite a lonely and dreary future for one so young. - No my lady, I truly do not believe it was your destiny to become a bride of the Stranger... I have a feeling that if the Gods exist, they wanted you elsewhere: they wanted you here with me, as my _wife_.”

Unfortunately, at the final statement, Stannis noticed Lady Tully slightly roll her eyes before she gave a small but definitely un-lady-like snort of derision:

“Well... I sometimes have a feeling that I could do crystal meth but then I think ...umm better not.”**

 

Stannis frowned not understanding what crystals had to do with the conversation or what ‘ _meth’_ was.

“I’m sorry I do not understand your words or your meaning?”

There was an uncomfortable cough – _possible laugh?_ : “N-nothing... just some Fat Amy once said.”

Stannis blinked several times, thinking he might have misheard: “ _F-fat_ Amy?”

Clearly noting the bewilderment in his voice, Lady Sansa Tully was quick to explain the comment or odd name for her ... _companion_?:

“Oh don’t worry; she’s the one who insists on calling her that: ‘ _Fat’_ Amy that is, so that bitc- _hum_... mean girls don’t feel the need say it behind her back.”

Eddard was clearly just as bewildered as him, asked, mouth gaping: “Is this ... _hum_... _Lady_ Amy a friend of yours... from the motherhouse you lived in?”

With another awkward smile, this time her eyes full of certain shine Stannis was not sure if he liked directed at Eddard, the lady turned to his friend: “Y-yea... I guess you could say that. I mean how else would I know her right...?”

Returning to address Stannis, Lady Sansa then added: “But anyways... what I meant before was that sometimes what people sometimes think is a good idea or what they think _should_ be, might not actually be a good idea... not matter if in the name of ‘ _duty’_ or ‘ _destiny_ ’ whatever else...”

On the words ‘ _duty’_ and _‘destiny’_ , Stannis was further confused and irritated by Lady Tully raising her arms from her sides and doing strange jerking movements with her index and long fingers***. However before he could ask about the action, or wonder if it were in some way a insulting gesture aimed at himself, she added:

“Lord Baratheon I am in no way agreeing to be your wife at this moment. But as you stated: who am I to deny my own lord father? Sooo... Maybe for the moment we could... wait for my father and sister to arrive to get married, and use the waiting period for you to try and convince me to relinquish my calling;... take this time to try and get to know each other?

Stannis blinked as his jaw slackened from its tightness: “Take this time to _get to know each other?!_ ”

With another smile, tighter than the one she had given his northern friend, she nodded: “Yea... _get to know each other_. - Surely my sister and you got to know each other a bit before your wedding?”

 

Stannis wanted to groan, wondering if the lady had either forgotten quite a few things from her blow to the head or she had been left ignorant of several _events_ that had happened outside her motherhouse... as well as wondering which foolish septa had put such notions in her head: _get to know each other indeed_...

He did feel it necessary to correct such womanly ideas: “My lady I had only met your sister days previous to our wedding; whatever I found out about Lady Lysa, it was _once_ we were married.” – _Like her adulterous and murderous inclinations_...

Clearly, whoever had taken care of the lady had fed her too many songs of knights and their lady loves, as Lady Sansa gaped at his apparently surprising response: “You met _days_ before the wedding?”

Stannis only bothered with a curt nod this time. – it had actually been the day before his wedding that he had met Lysa.

The lady huffed at this: “Well, Lord Baratheon, let me assure you: I am _not_ my sister. No offence, but _I_ am not going to let myself be hitched to some random lord I know nothing about.”

There was another small pause, a continued mix of perplexity at some of her words, but mainly Stannis, once more, feeling his ire rising at the continual frustrations - _headaches_ \- he was already getting from only the first day of meeting his next bride, as she added:

“... You can think of it as you courting me.”

He blinked: “ _Courting_...?”

An abrupt nod from Lady Tully: “Yep: _courting_.”

Before her eyes narrowed somewhat – a look all to similar to her sister: “- Men _do_ court women in this tim-... _place_?”

 

 _Courting?!?! - This is ridiculous_!!

 

Stannis didn’t have time to court or get to know anyone: he needed his heir!

What was even more annoying was that at the comment, he noticed Eddard at his side trying – quite badly – to force down his amusement of the lady’s ridiculous request.

For his part, he definitely did not find the situation humorous. Instead, Stannis was very much tempted to correct this woman once more: no matter what this young lady thought, she _was_ going to be his bride, and she was going to be his bride _very_ soon.

 

Unfortunately, before he could answer her question, or object, she affirmed her previous statement and decided to settle the matter for him!:

“My _family_ are on their way here. – It is most surprising that I arrived before them, but the fact does not change that they are on their way, and my lord father will most likely be very disappointed, if not angry, if he is not here to give his daughter away. So we might as well make do. If you try to _court_ me or not that is your own choice, I will not force you to. – As you say: you _are_ ‘ _Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, firstborn son of Lord Steffon Baratheon_ ’; - I am sure I could not force you to do anything you did not wish, as much as you could not force me – Lady Tully of Rivverrun, daughter of Lord Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident – to do anything against mine - or my father’s - will.”

With another small nod, she then added with a sigh:

“As for now, my lord, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have answered your question, but I also have had quite a long day full of... _troubles_. All I would like to do now is possibly finally take that bath that had been _so generously_ previously offered, as well as a possible small meal, and rest my head for the rest of the night.”

 

Stannis blinked, his jaw loosened then tightened once more in his usual scowl, before he finally decided maybe it would be best to be continued the questions and mysteries for another day: one where hopefully Lady Tully would be more reasonable and not continue to suggest such outlandish notions...

Mind made up, he gave a curt nod, to which the lady replied with a thankful smile:

“Thank you... Lord Baratheon. ... I- I do have another request though: I... I would like that young lady.. woman who brought me back to my room be my... maid, not the _others_ from before.

Stannis frowned at the request: “My lady: all the women that had been sent to... assist you were following my orders.”

“Nevertheless, _I_ would prefer to choose the personnel assisting _me_.”

 

All of a sudden, before Stannis could answer, possibly protest, there were cries outside the room, in the hall, getting louder the words came through the door:

_“I want to see Cat!”_

 

With the strange intrusion, all three turned towards the noise, before Eddard moved to the door and opened it.

Once the door open, from where he was standing, Stannis noticed that it was the young Lord Edmure Tully who seemed to be the source of the cries. Taking in the scene further, it appeared that his ward**** was now to be in the middle of being chastised by his castellan Ser Cortnay Penrose:

“Lord Edmure – _our_ Lord Baratheon is still with your sister. You have to _wait_ till he has finished speaking with her.”

Unfortunately for the knight, by now the Tully boy had noticed the door being open, and proceeded to swiftly move around him as well as slide past Eddard into the room.

However, once inside, Stannis followed as the boy stopped when his gaze landed on the only woman in the room; his face quickly turning into a pout, somewhere between disappointment and confusion, like only children knew how to do:

“You are not Catelyn.”

 

**. . .**

 

When the young boy had come bursting into the room, Sansa momentarily froze.

 

Part of her – quite a _large_ part of her - knew that she should be more than worried by the fact that this boy could ruin all of what she had said for the last half hour. However all she could focus on at the moment were the two blue orbs looking at her in uncertainty.

It had been nearly twelve years since she had seen her father’s face, her father’s _eyes_ ; but here, right in front of her, were their exact copy.

At the sight, and the accompanying jolt running through her whole body, a small gasp – a mix of pain, surprise, confusion – left her now trembling lips. Holding back her tears, she felt her chin quiver slightly as she approached the boy and bent her knees some to properly face him – _and those eyes_ – and replied:

“ _N-no_ , I’m not Catelyn.”

She felt her heart neat once, and then the boy answered:

“You have my mother’s eyes.”

 

Once more not bothering to hide her emotions, Sansa smiled sadly:

“And you have my father’s eyes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - silent sister’s are also known as the Stranger’s brides in the ASOIAF series
> 
> * -inspired by the quote from ASOIAF:
> 
> _“I stopped believing in gods the day I saw the Windproud break up across the bay. Any gods so monstrous as to drown my mother and father would never have my worship, I vowed. In King's Landing, the High Septon would prattle at me of how all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either was made by men.”_
> 
>  
> 
> – Stannis, in A Storm of Swords
> 
> ** - Sansa’s reference to a scene from Pitch Perfect that I love - I love everything about Fat Amy :) : <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF0QXuzE2rE>
> 
> *** - Sansa doing ‘air quotes’ with her hands/fingers
> 
> **** - In the original canon/ In ASOIAF, not much is said on Edmure Tully’s childhood, but did mention that he squired for Brandon – at least for when he fought against Petyr Baelish (possibly more?). Going by this and the fact that Lord Tully and Lord Stark wanted to keep their alliene with Stannis after his betrothal with Lyanna fell through, I am saying that it was decided that Edmure was sent to Storm’s End to become Stannis squire when he reached the age of 7/8 – will be delved upon more/ give more explanations to this decision later in the story.


	11. PART I, Chapter 10 - The Start of a New Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soo much for Sarah_Black for beta-reading as well as her suggestions for this chapter :)

 

As Stannis watched the sibling reunion he felt a slight tinge of guilt run through him. He had been so focused on the attack, Lady Tully’s physical and mental state and the whole mystery surrounded his betrothed that he had forgotten about his ward Edmure Tully and to bring the boy to greet his sister; - his presence might have actually helped calm the lady after her ordeal.

The reunion did prove a moving one. From where he was standing he could note the slight glaze and unshed tears in Lady Tully’s eyes as she whispered most likely affectionate words to her brother.

Given the scene and their age difference Stannis couldn’t help but picture the scene as if it was Lady Sansa as his wife, talking to their future son...

The small glimmer of hope soon changed to a frown as he then thought: ... that is if only the blasted woman took leave of her ridiculous notions of _‘getting to know each other_ ’ or becoming a silent sister.

His darkening thoughts were thankfully interrupted when Stannis felt a nudge at his side. Turning to the source, he realised that Eddard was silently trying to get his attention, whilst trying to not disturb the siblings’ reunion. It was obvious from the look on Stark’s face that he thought they should leave the two to properly catch up. Deciding his northern friend might have the right idea, Stannis begrudgingly followed him out of the room, silently closing the door behind them.

 

Once out in the hall, door firmly closed, Ser Cortnay Penrose, who had clearly been waiting for them, quickly opened his mouth, most likely to apologise for how the young Tully boy had barged in. However Eddard quickly raised his hand to halt the other man’s words as he spoke:

“Lady Tully has had a long day, it is the least we can do to let her properly reunite with her family.”

Stannis was a little annoyed that his friend had made this decision for him, and spoke to _his_ man directly, as well the albeit indirect way of seeming to protect Lady Tully. But ultimately, he decided not to reproach Eddard for the action as he was - _annoyingly again_ \- most likely right. Saying nothing Stannis gave his castellan a curt nod, showing his agreement with the decision as well as dismissing him.

Once Ser Cortnay Penrose had left their side, Stannis and Eddard started moving down the corridor at a slow pace towards Stannis’ solar. With Ser Cortnay  out of sight, Eddard broke the silence with a sigh.

“I do not envy Lady Tully...”

At the comment, Stannis sharply turned his head to face his friend, his scowl firmly back in place, ready to growl at the insult he had just been given. At the action however, Eddard merely gave a short scoff, with an added roll of the eyes.

“... I did not mean that I do not envy her betrothal to you, Stannis. It must be difficult for Lady Tully to finally meet another member of her family – even without the other trials she has faced today. I cannot begin to imagine the thoughts and feelings running through her mind: to be separated from those closest to her since her early childhood, to then be thrust into a whole new life, full of unknowns and come upon someone that is supposed to be her sibling, her family, her blood...”

Stannis halted and blinked at his friend observation. – He had seen the emotion on Lady Tully’s face as she had told them the trying events of her life as well as how her voice had weakened and how her hand shook when Edmure had walked cautiously towards her, but none of this had computed in Stannis mind that this was undoubtedly the first time the two siblings had actually met.

To not know your own family for most of your life would be a desolate feeling indeed. Even when he had been sent to the Vale, both Eddard and himself would go back to their visit their family occasionally; including for the birth of his brother Renly.

Every man, woman and child knew Stannis did not have the best relationship with his brothers, especially Robert, and that sometimes he even cursed the Gods for having given him brothers, but he couldn’t deny that their presence had helped him through his own life. Even Robert, for all his flaws, had been a reassuring presence at certain moments. Stannis remembered when their father had first brought them to court, Stannis barely four and Robert always by his side, holding his hand as they had looked on in awe at what they had thought was King Aerys...

... And then when they had witnessed _Windproud_ crashing against the waves and rocks of Shipbreaker’s Bay. He could still remember how Robert had clutched his arm, half yelling, half begging to his older brother that the ship wasn’t the one carrying their parents, all the while Stannis had forced himself to be strong, if not for himself then for Robert as well as for the barely one year old Renly.

 

There was a long moment of silence, the answer sinking in, Stannis agreeing with his friend, before the sombre look faded slightly from Eddard’s face to one more humorous. Eyes twinkling, his northern friend asked:

“So... have any ideas on how you will _court_ your lady?”

Stannis could only glare at his friend in response.

_Courting... utterly ridiculous._

With another amused quirk of the lips, Eddard gave Stannis a strong reassuring pat on the shoulder:

“Do not fret my friend; I am sure you will figure out something to make the lady more accommodating to the idea of marrying you.”

Stannis only huffed in response. Clearly not having convinced him, Eddard then added:

“Better a virago than a weakling to my way of thinking. - In the North they say that a strong mother produces strong sons. And in any case, didn’t the Baratheon line start with your ancestor Orys Baratheon marrying Argella Durrandon? He obviously found a way to earn the lady’s respect and affection, even after he had killed her father. Just think of her as your very own Storm Queen that you need to understand the temperament of.”

 

**.**

 

Unfortunately in the following days, it seemed that neither Stannis nor Lady Tully made any real progress one way or the other.

The first two days since Lady Tully’s arrival, Stannis did not manage to get more answers from her or convince her to get over this silly notion of ‘ _getting to know each other’_.

There was the added fact that, with the attack more than likely still fresh in the lady’s mind, Eddard had recommended to Stannis that he not ask her too many questions, in fear of disheartening the lady; – especially since Lady Tully seemed still quite saddened from having lost her guards and her companion, as well as seemed to still have a few blanks in her memory. Instead, his northern friend had encouraged Stannis to try and be as amiable as possible and let the lady settle in a bit more in her new home as well as get to know her brother. - Stannis begrudgingly agreed with Eddard, though he did continue to mark the lady’s whereabouts through the days as she explored her new home.

He had also had to reluctantly admit that she didn’t have acceptable wedding dress, since all her gowns seemed to have been lost. For all his lack of understanding of the female mind, Stannis knew that he couldn’t well force the lady to marry in one of her sister’s dresses, or at least without being perceived quite negatively by said lady if he were to suggest it. There was the added fact that his newest Tully betrothed was taller as well as slimmer than Lysa and new dresses were definitely required.

Of course, it was on the evening of this second day that the realm reminded him that it would not stop running because of his own personal situation. Maester Cressen received a raven from Nightsong for both Stannis and Ser Rolland Storm informing them that Lord Bryen Caron, as well as his lady wife, one of his true born sons as well as all his daughters had died from a chill, leaving only the young[ Bryce Caron](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Bryce_Caron) as now the new Lord of the House as well as Lord of the Marches*.

The ill news reminded Stannis of another fateful parchment he had received from Evenfall Hall more or less at the same time as Lysa’s death: informing him that Lord Selwyn Tarth only male heir had died from drowning, leaving the old lord with only one daughter.**

With these continual deaths, Lysa’s actions and demise, as well as the attack to his new betrothed, Stannis couldn’t help but wonder if these death were truly from natural-accidental causes, or if they were actually all linked: all attacks to weaken him and the Stormlands.

In either case, the news proved an added complication in the fact that the now Lord Caron was only a boy of seven, according to his bastard brother. With this knowledge as well as the fact that Nightsong was located in the Dornish Marches, and thus was the closest stronghold to Dorne from the South and the Reach from the North, it was decided that Stannis and Ser Rolland Storm – the boy’s only remaining relative -, with a large group of men, would sail to retrieve the young lord, for him to become the newest ward of Storm’s End, for his own safety.

With the dire nature of the situation, they were quick to prepare one of their fastest ships, for it to leave Shipbreakers Bay by the end of the week.

Stannis could only hope that in his absence Lady Tully would grow to accept her new home, and that Septa Baela, Maester Cressen and Eddard would be able to convince her to just marry Stannis without any more fuss.

 

**. . .**

 

 

Sansa’s first days in the Dragon Age were definitely as interesting as they were tiresome.

 

They were basically filled with endless ways of Sansa needing to be careful of how she acted, what she said, what she did whilst trying to not piss off Lord Big and Muscly too much, or have too many strange stares from the others.

Sure, Lord Baratheon was more or less an accommodating host: he made sure she was well taken care of and he had actually consented to her requested lady in waiting, as well as instructed others to give her all of her _‘sister’s’_ beautiful gowns. Unfortunately all these actions were slightly dampened during the moments when Lord Big and Muscly was in her direct presence. It seemed that his idea of courting her was him either asking her tricky even sometimes embarrassing questions about her life or her journey to Storm’s End: for example asking Sansa about her apparent 'strange choice' in 'undergarments' wear for a someone who was thinking in becoming a silent sister. - _Ummm, none of your business Bucko_! However even these were in a way more welcome than the continual berating her and trying to convince her to forgo the idea of a long engagement or her possibly becoming a silent sister and just get married as soon as possible.

 

With her possible impending wedding Sansa had worriedly pondered what would have happened if she hadn’t been a virgin? – Would Lord Baratheon have sent her to her _‘father’_ and demanded her thirteen year old _‘sister’_? Or would he have sent her back to the non-existent motherhouse which she was supposed to have come from?

She also wondered what Uncle Cregan or Grand-Pa Ben would think of the man who seemed to think they were engaged? In a way Uncle Cregan _had_ named one of his sons after the man... Yet she found it hard to believe that either man would approve of Lord Big and Muscly, even with all his amazing prowess in the different wars and in saving the realm from the white zombies.

Humorously, Sansa had to accept that at least he was honest in wanting to get into her pants.

There was of course the fact he was basically a stranger that bothered her. But Sansa was actually more bothered by the realisation that it wasn’t having sex with her that was the most appealing – he actually seemed like he wouldn’t care all that much about the sex part itself – but it was the fact that she could give him heirs. It was a twisted irony that quite a few women in the modern age had a hard time finding a guy to settle down with, as quite a few were just interested in having a one-night stand with them, whilst big bucko here seemed less than interested about the sex but more interested in the marriage and having sons.

The more she thought about it the more she actually felt insulted that it seemed she could be any woman – beautiful or ugly, smart or dumb, interesting or dull – she just needed to be the ‘vessel’ in which his sons came from. - Needless to say this definitely did not improve her opinion of the man.

With her constant refusal to budge on the matter, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if the continual scowl that was on Lord Big and Muscly’s face was for her benefit or if he was just always so grouchy. The only two people who seemed to truly have his affection and respect were her Stark ancestor and his younger brother, the much more acceptable and entertaining teenager Renly. Though Sansa quickly realised, through her lady in waiting, that his other brother, on the other hand, was a sore subject;- one best to not mention in front of Lord Baratheon.

 

As for getting to know the castle itself:

Well it definitely helped that being the lady of a great house, and that everyone was as convinced as Lord Big and Muscly that she was his betrothed, meant that she was able to explore most of the castle. Unfortunately the castle was also _huge_ ; – like seriously huge. The place was basically a miniature city, with so many people and so many things happening; Sansa probably needed a sat-nav or the Marauder’s Map to properly walk through it without getting lost.

Thankfully she had something that was possibly a little better - or at least better than a sat-nav: her _‘brother’_ , Edmure Tully.

Although most seemed too scared to talk to her or even look at her directly, making Sansa wonder if Lord Baratheon had said something to do with it or if it was just a matter of status in the keep, her ‘brother’ obviously didn’t have the same qualms, or at least he was too eager to get to know his new sister to follow these rules, if there were such rules.

 

As much as she had first worried that the Tully boy’s presence might ruin her story, Sansa soon became very grateful for his presence. In addition to reminding her of her father, Edmure ended up being a surprisingly great source of insight into the goings on around her. Once she started spending most of her time with him, Sansa soon realised that she could use her sudden ‘new brother’ to her advantage. Edmure was still quite young and innocent at heart, and thus he actually proved to be her best way of getting information about this time as well as about the castle and its inhabitants without raising too many questions.

Sansa was actually quite grateful that even though he wasn’t Arya, or Jon and Stann, she easily had some affection and link to the young boy especially since he seemed to be as lonely and lost as her in this strange new place. - Edmure had only arrived at Storm’s End about ten or eleven months ago, this was the first time he had left Riverrun. Her ‘brother’ had explained to her that apparently with his sister’s marriage to Lord Big and Muscly, it had also been agreed that Edmure would become a ward of Storm’s End when he turned seven. As such, about a year ago, the son of a friend of his father had escorted him from Riverrun to King’s Landing, where Lord Baratheon and Lady Lysa had met up with him, to then bring him to his new home***.

Although Edmure didn’t state it so explicitly, it soon became apparent to Sansa that he was still trying getting to know Storm’s End, and that he still felt alone and like an outsider, especially since he was a few years younger to the other young nobles in the castle. As such he was both more than eager to get to know his new sibling, as well as craving not only her affection but her approval.

In addition to being her biggest ally in Storm’s End, he was her source of information about her ‘ _family’_. From the way and how often he spoke of her, he clearly missed his sister Catelyn, who he obviously had a very close relationship with. On the other hand, it was as just as apparent that Edmure hadn’t really known his other sister Lysa. This was understandable, due to their age gap and the fact that Edmure had only been a year old when Lysa had married Lord Baratheon, but from his comments, Sansa realised that in the few months of being reunited, the older Tully woman had made little effort to get to know her brother better.

As for her ‘ _parents’_ : apparently Lady Minisa Tully had died not long before, and ever since then her ‘ _father’_ had been somewhat of a recluse, rarely leaving his castle. Although the boy had never known his mother, Lord Tully would often recount many stories about his late wife and even had a portrait of Minisa Tully that he he always kept on his person, and would often show to his children. Apparently, from this image, Sansa had the same eye distinction as her ‘mother’: one blue, one grey.  Sansa remembered that her father had mentioned that her great grandmother had also had the same atypical eyes – it clearly seemed to be a hereditary trait from her Tully side.

Sansa was definitely more than thankful when her ‘ _brother’_ also revealed to her that she apparently had a ‘ _niece’_ , Lord Baratheon’s only child. Sansa would have definitely looked foolish if wondering who the young girl who looked a lot like her was, when she had stubble upon her and her nurse on her second day in the keep. The three year old girl, who actually looked like she could be a mini version of Sansa – apart from the eyes – was hands down the sweetest cupcake Sansa had ever seen.

It actually broke her heart a little when Sansa quickly came to the realisation that the girl’s own father didn’t actually spend much time with her. From what the girl’s nursemaid said this seemed to be especially true ever since her mother had died.

Sansa had briefly wondered if it was the death of his wife that had affected him so that it had lead to his half-abandonment of his own daughter. But she had quickly dismissed the idea that it was because he was still in mourning for her mother: – Lord Baratheon definitely did not act like he had just lost his wife and the few times he had mentioned Lady Lysa in front of Sansa, there was a definite lack of warmth in his tone. Plus, let’s not forget that he seemed all too eager for a _new_ bride.

That was when Sansa had learnt that that Lysa had died pregnant with another child - literally about to burst - and the baby was believed to have been a boy.

Evidently Lord Baratheon had been more affected by the loss of his son than of his wife. Obviously he had felt cheated that his male heir had been stolen from him when he had been within his grasps, but Sansa wondered if the feeling went further and the possibility that Lord Big and Muscly didn’t visit his daughter was because she wasn’t a _boy_. – If that were true, Sansa was definitely pissed off: it was definitely not the little girl’s fault that she wasn’t a boy! - It wasn’t even her mother’s fault! She couldn’t stand men fucking blaming their wives when actually it was basically all their fault if they didn’t get a male heir. - Gods she should give them all a course in genetics and DNA!

Whether that _was_ the case or not here, it was clear that the man had issues that he needed to resolve, though Sansa honestly thought that just marrying the next woman that came along and getting her pregnant was probably _not_ the best way of dealing with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - in ASOIAF, Bryce Caron is the son of Lord Bryen Caron. He became the head of the House after his father, mother, brother, and all his sisters succumbed to a terrible chill in 289 AC. Bryce's only known living relative is his half-brother, Ser Rolland Storm, a bastard son of Bryen. It doesn’t actually say hold old Bryce Caron is when the rest of his family died, so decided he was quite young (around Edmure’s age) and thus was sent to Storm’s End to be near his half-brother and to be in Stannis’ care.
> 
> ** - in ASOIAF, Sewyn Tarth’s male heir, Galladon, died in 284 or 285, leaving Brienne as his only remaining daughter, but decided to change it so Stannis properly thinks people are conspiring against him and the Stormlands.
> 
> *** don’t know if came through but basically Edmure travelled with P Baelish from Riverrun to Kings Landing/ Lysa and Petyr got together at some point in the capital when Stannis and Lysa came to ‘pick up’ Edmure


	12. PART I, Chapter 11 - Unexpected Acts and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis' last meal in the castle before his departure for Nightsong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter slightly shorter than previous ones, but felt like it was needed before getting on with Sansa's progress in the Dragon Age and getting to know the castle and ppl's inside it.
> 
> \- Should also say, one of the key scenes of the chapter was greatly inspired by a scene in Sarah_Black's amazing story 'The Lady of Storm's End'. - Hopefully I do her and her story justice ;)

 

 

Although the rest of the hall of was full talk and conviviality, the high table was quiet. Everyone was silently eating their broth, with only the occasional word from one of the men;- just the way Stannis preferred it.

Everything was as it should be: the preparations were complete, the ship ready for boarding at first light on the morrow. He had even, earlier that day, gone over with both Ser Cortnay Pentrose and Eddard on matters relating to the keep in his absence, as well as give certain additional instructions to Maester Cressen and Septa Baela on the matter of his betrothed.

With a small grumble he did acknowledge that one matter still continued to plague his mind: _Lady Tully_. - It was the five days since her arrival and _still_ no progress. And now he was leaving her, the issue _still_ unresolved. Part of Stannis was truly tempted to postpone the trip another day or have Ser Rolland Storm go without him, but Stannis knew the idea was only thoughtless conjecture and that it was his duty as Lord of the Stormlands, to attend to the young lord: - Nightsong was one of his more important houses, even without it being the first stronghold against both Dorne and the Reach.

\- In any case he doubted a few days would change the lady’s irrational mind: Lady Tully was as stubborn as a _mule_.

All this had unfortunately led him to his current predicament: Stannis needed to inform his betrothed of his impending departure. – This was something he had been trying to figure out ever since they had received the raven and his decision to go to the Caron’s seat and retrieve the young lord.

 

Regrettably the present scene unravelling to his right was not helping Stannis concentrate on any possible solution, but instead was only raising his curiosity as well as frustration of the lady.

Sat between their respective younger brothers, Lady Tully was currently studying her food, as if checking any and all possible fowl play to have come to it. - Stannis had already been personally reassured that all the food served had been tasted for poison, but as this didn’t not seem to be the reason of her own scrutiny, Stannis decided to remain silent, wondering what she was finding so interesting about the bread she had just requested with her meal.

From his seat, Stannis discretely observed as she tentatively dug out a piece from the loaf with her delicate fingers before not doing much more than stare at the morsel for several moments. She then proceeded to lift the bread to her nose, inhaling it deeply. Eyes closed, her face softened and her lips parted sensually as if she were as aroused by the mere scent of it. Forcing himself to ignore any possible stirring below his waist, Stannis glanced down at his own chunk of bread, resisting the urge to sniff it as the lady had just done. - _It is naught but grain as always:_ _what can be so arousing about it_?

 

Clearly not the only one still ever curious on her odd action, Renly looked at her from her own right and inquired:

“Is there something amiss, my lady?... I promise it is tasty and filling – it suits the broth well.”

Looked from the piece she was holding to his younger brother, Stannis noted her long lashes flicker before her cheeks tinted slightly into a lovely shade of pink:

“Oh, it’s not that; I’m sure it will be lovely.”

Thankfully his brother, once again, voiced the question Stannis was fighting himself not to:

“What is it then?”

In a whisper close to that one would use in the throes of passion, she replied one word, as if it held all the answers: _“Carbs.”_

\- At the single word, Stannis felt the near lust it conveyed, this time provoking a definite rouse in his breeches; - in a way that Lysa had most definitely never incited, with one or even _several_ words.

Clearly not as affected as Stannis by the reverential quality of her tone, though as bewildered as himself, Renly blinked: “Pardon?”

The lady sighed in a similar wishful manner from previously:

“I haven’t eaten _carbs_ in months.”

Against reason, part of Stannis hope she would just eat the blasted piece of bread, for his brain seemed to have lost of words whilst the rest of his being seemed to travel straight down to his groin. Of course that was when, Stannis felt himself harden even more, when Lady Tully closed her eyes and licked her lips in anticipation.

Looking at her as strangely and confused as his brother, her own brother joined - in a tone one would use to explain something to a child:

“It is not... _carbs_ Sansa, its _bread_.”

She only replied with a large smile: “Exactly.”- As if that was explanation enough.

And then without further ado, her eyes fluttered closed as she placed it between her lips.-

_\- “Mmmmm...”_

At the purr of appreciation, she slowly started chewing, before her eyes re-opened, burning in satisfaction.

Stannis, personally, jaw tight, fist clenched on the table, was far from _satisfied_ ; instead he was beginning to feel more and more likely to cross the single seat separating them and demand they start on his heir right then and there, if she dared continue to eat the bread in such a outlandish fashion!

 _By_ _All the Gods_...

What made the whole exchange worse was when he noted a slight but distinct shuffling around the table, as well as a few muffled coughs around the table; - clearly he had not been the only one enthralled by the act. A slight edge of fury running through him, Stannis scowled a hard glare at the rest of the men surrounding the table, as another tiny morsel made its way to her luscious lips in much the same manner. – The lady might have been brought up by silent sisters and septas but she acted like she had learnt the secrets of a brothel in enticing men with the simplest of actions...

... At least both Renly and the young Lord Edmure seemed to be obvious to all this and continued to eye the lady quizzically but in a much more innocent manner.

 

As for himself, a furious fire burning bright inside him, Stannis lifted his cup to his lips, determined to stifle it; - for once he felt great irritation for not having wine.

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa definitely needed to give the women in the kitchen more of her praises: they had cooked amazing food: – the bread was like the _Heavens_ in her mouth... (– _sigh_ )

Not even trying to deny herself from taking another piece, Sansa still couldn’t _believe_ she had gone on that stupid diet for all those months because she had stupidly listened to Joffrey, when he had told her she was getting a little _chubby_.

Being maybe a tiny bit vain, as well as having been stupidly crushing on the blonde-ass-fuck, she had readily barely eaten any carbs: no bread, no fries or chips (- _or snacks for that matter_ -), practically no red meat, no salmon... and she had even continued it even after the break-up. Of course the diet had gotten a little more lax after she had the good sense to dump Jof’s sorry ass, but still: so many foods she hadn’t had in _soooo_ long. – She had only sneaked the occasional piece of dark chocolate or lemon tart, just because she wasn’t totally _insane_.

 

Unfortunately landing in the Dragon Age had been somewhat of a wakeup call in this department and not in the best of ways:

On her second day, still exploring the ins and outs of Storm’s End with Edmure, Mary following close behind, Sansa had been more than confused when, as she had passed the kitchen, a large woman followed by two other slightly younger, had basically blocked her path, looking at her expectantly. The chubbier, older woman had nervously wiped her hands on her stained apron, bobbed up and down - her younger counterparts following suit – before saying:

“Pardon, m-lady, but what are yer instructions?”

Sansa had blinked: “Instructions?”

“For the meals, m-lady.”

Blinking several more time, Sansa had thankfully quickly realized that as – _not really, only very, very technically_ – lady of the keep, she was basically in charge of these women and the meals they needed to prepare for the whole castle:

“Oh. Oh, right. The meals… Well the food has been excellent so far. I am very impressed with the quality and quantity. – Great work, ladies.”

She still remembered now the look of joy the three women gave at each other, smiles replacing anxiety, and, obviously pleased, the youngest had even ducked into a very low bow, to hide an unmistakable grin. The cook, herself, had nodded vigorously a “Thank ye, m-lady.”

Being inspired, Sansa had then proceeded take on her role as ‘ _a Lady of a Great House’_ , by informing them that she as was still in the process of ‘getting to know’ the castle, and thus she would leaving them to their devices for now, but would return later to ‘ _get more informed how they ran the kitchens;_ – _just in case it differed greatly from her ‘motherhouse’_ , _and note if there were ways to possibly improve’;_ though Sansa had internally highly doubted this. – It _had_ _totally_ sounded lady-like and ‘master-of-her-domain’ though...

Unfortunately when she had returned this very morning, Sansa had come to a very unwelcome realisation: being the Third Century, right in the middle of the Dragon Age, the Americas had yet to be discovered. This in itself might not have been of great importance if not for the fact that Sansa hadn’t realised until now how many things had come from the ‘New Worlds’, the greatest horrors of all: there was no _chocolate!_ * No tomatoes!* No potatoes!*

\- _It is one thing to stupidly deny yourself fries for a few months, but to know you would maybe never have them again_! _To borrow Joseph Conrad’s words:_ ‘ _The Horror! The Horror!’_

With this horrible reality check, Sansa had come to the decision that she would stop denying herself any pleasures, small or not, especially when it came to food. _– Who knows what else they might not have here is this time, might as well make the most of it!_

 

Sansa was in the middle of silently remembering her relief of when the cook – _Beth_ – had reassured her that they did have lemons in Storm’s End, even received them quite regularly as ‘ _his lordship_ ’ was partial to them in his drink, with his water, when her musings were interrupted by Lord Big and Muscly addressing her, rather gruffly:

“My lady, I recently received distressing news from one of my Houses: Lord Caron, his lady wife, one of his sons as well as all his daughters have unfortunately passed from a chill, leaving only his son of seven years as the new Lord of Nightsong.”

At the announcement, Sansa blinked, before stammering a response, not entirely sure what she should say:

“I... I am sorry for your loss Lord Baratheon. I am truly grieved for the boy, to lose all his family so suddenly.”

The man only huffed, seeming slightly irritated: “There is no need for your words or sentiment, my lady: – you are not the one to have brought on their demise or made the boy an orphan. I am merely informing you of this as several of my men and as well as myself will be leaving to retrieve the young Lord Caron from Nightsong to bring him here, into proper care, as well as for his own safety."

Trying to ignore his callous manner of treating the news that a young boy had just become an orphan as well as not giving two-shits of her thoughts on the news, Sansa forced herself to ask as pleasantly as possible:

“... _hum_... when... when will you be leaving, Lord Baratheon?”

Without preamble, he bluntly stated: “Tomorrow at dawn.”

Blinked several times, Sansa was only able to give a small: “ _Ohh_...” before frowning, a new realisation coming to her:

“... and when did you know you were leaving on this journey... Lord Baratheon?”

“Three days ago, not long after receiving the raven informing me of Lord Caron‘s passing.”

Surpressing her irritation further, with the patience of the Maiden and the strength of the Old Gods, Sansa forced a tight smile on her lips as she then inquired:

“And when did you start on the preparations of said journey?”

It was his turn to frown – or at least frown _more_ – as he answered brusquely, the answer obvious:

“Three days ago, as soon as the decision of the journey was made.”

_\- Just as I thought..._

Raising her eyebrows, Sansa challenged: “And you thought to only inform me _now_?”

Clearly confused as to why he should have informed her earlier, Mr Lord Big and Muscly only gave her a curt nod, his dark blue eyes piercing into her own.

 

There was a small pause of silence. From the corner of her eye she could note some of the knights shift slightly in their seat as they were discreetly - but not discreetly enough – looking between Lord Big and Muscly and herself.

As for Sansa, she was starting to feel more and more sorry for her ‘older sister’. - Even though she was definitely sympathetic to the young boy who had just become an orphan – losing her own parents at a young age she could definitely relate – her irritation and general frustration with Lord Big and Muscly was reaching a new high. For a man that was supposed to be convincing her to marry him, Sansa was more than sure that he was doing a _very_ poor job of it. Yes: he had given her a lovely room in his castle, and had given her loads of dresses to alter and wear but there was also been the examination, the questioning and total lack of propriety, as well as misogynist behaviour. And yes: he needed to go take care of the young boy and protect him. But the man clearly did not know how to inform his possible future fiancée that he would be leaving her, to go on some trip with his buddies, not even a day beforehand?!

 

Forcing herself to rein in the several words she would like to express out loud, Sansa tried to say as calmly as possible – though ultimately not caring one bit who was there to witness their exchange:

“Lord Baratheon, need I remind you that you seemed eager, not even this _very_ _morning_ , for me to become your _bride_. Let me assure you, _my lord_ , that you keeping things from me something as simple as you being here, in the castle, or you going away, are definite detriments to you convincing me that you are a suitable alternative to taking my vows, and accepting you as my husband. I would go so far as to say that you can just add this to the many reasons why a marriage between us would not _work_.”

 

At the end of her statement, Sansa could feel, more than see, all eyes at the high table going between Lord Big and Muscly and herself, as she refused break her own stare from the big man himself.

As for Lord Baratheon: the slight frown that had been on his face had vanished into a blank expression. That is before it came back tenfold, his brows crashing together, his jaw clenching till a distinctive grinding sound could be heard.

His voice was iron when finally he answered: “I am informing you, _here_ and _now_ , my lady: – you can consider yourself informed on the matter of me leaving _my_ _own castle_.”

 

Sansa merely rolled her eyes, and let out a small huff in response: the man could be such an oblivious thick-headed idiot! She didn’t even waste her breath asking him if he had told his daughter that he was leaving or giver the little girl his goodbyes.

 

**.**

 

Being naturally an early riser, Sansa did hear, the next morning very early, the sound of several men leaving the keep, as well as note several shadows moving on horseback pass the gate.

Even if there were only the first rays of sun lighting the men, she was easily able to distinguish which was Lord Big and Muscly, by the fact that... _well,_ he _was_ the biggest form out there, as well as his already recognisable dark close-cropped hair and his straight-as-an-arrow posture on his mount.

At the scene, eyes silently following their progress further and further from the keep, she was surprised to feel a small tinge of ... _disappointment_?

If she was truly honest with herself, as much as she found his constant berating more than annoying, Sansa would have acknowledged that she might actually be a little sad watching him disappear from sight.

 

However, shaking her head, she quickly removed such a stupid thought from her mind, before coming to a much better realisation: she could use his absence to her advantage. Lord Baratheon’s time away from the castle could only be a good thing: a period to properly get use to her new situation without his constant frown watching over her...

... As well as her possibly trying to find a way back to her own time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Had a rather long discussion with a friend about so many things that people in Europe did not have until the Americas were discovered the most horrifying ones for me were cocoa (chocolate), potatoes and tomatoes, felt the need to have something like this in the story. [Here is a list of the foods/crops for those interested: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_World_crops> ]


	13. PART I, Chapter 12 - A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa coming up with a plan and doing lots of learning

 

After the first few days in Storm’s End of feeling like a headless chicken, constantly worrying how she should act, how things were done, wondering where things were, if certain things actually existed... and mainly just following Edmure, Sansa decided to start on a proper plan of action; ‘ _Operation Dragon_ ’ i.e. become an expert in everything about the Dragon Age, in the week Lord Big and Muscly was supposed to be away.

  

 ** _Step 1_** was pretty simple: ‘ _get as much information as possible_ ’.

  

 ** _Step 2_** as well: identify her main ‘ _sources’_ of information:

 _Source number 1_ : _Edmure_. – Sansa actually felt a little guilty all the times she used him to basically make sure she was doing something correctly, as it ultimately boiled down to a _slight_ form of emotional blackmail... or, in a more positive light: _‘sibling bonding’... – yeah, let’s go with ‘sibling bonding’_.

 

 _Source number 2_ : When Edmure was called on to do whatever young boys were supposed to do, Sansa would try and get as much information as possible from Mary, her lady-in-waiting and second ‘ _ally_ ’.

Mary had actually been the one to bring her to and from Lord Big and Muscly’s solar after she had been examined by the maester. The teenager was only a year older than herself and was clearly very happy in her new role in the keep; as such, was eager to keep her new position and please Sansa. - Here again, Sansa _might_ have used _some_ possible blackmail: she had quickly made it clear that, even though Sansa knew there were certain things Mary would gossip to her ‘ _colleagues’_ , some of the stuff that happened whilst with Sansa were to remain _private_ and there would be ‘ _serious repercussions to betraying her lady’s trust_ ’. – Sansa had not actually said what these repercussions might be, but instead, had let young lady’s own imagination take care of that for her.

 

 _Source number 3_ : was actually her ‘ _niece’_ , Shireen. Honestly the three-year-old was so sweet that Sansa didn’t really need an excuse to join her in the nursery or take her on outside stroll through the castle, her nurse-maid and Mary following. - It actually always raised Sansa’s anger slightly against Lord Baratheon, every time she looked on his daughter and know that he did not seem to care for her.

But that was a matter for when he got back: for the time being, Sansa would sit in on Shireen’s lessons and activities with either the nurse-maid or the septa, so that Sansa could learn with the young girl ‘ _simple_ ’ Dragon Age things. - Though she did of course say that her reason was to make sure that Shireen received the best education possible.

(Sansa had taken a similar approach with the maester in joining Edmure and the other wards in their lessons; unfortunately, from the look on the old guy’s face, he had either felt slighted by the comment or was greatly flustered in letting a woman learn ‘ _man things_ ’. – She couldn’t very well tell him that she also wanted to learn, since she had practically no knowledge of the Houses, their words or who was ruling where... Nor could she tell him that she was in fact at university, knew _several_ languages, could do complex math, as well as had a better knowledge of the human anatomy or World Geography than he did...)

 

Her other main source was unfortunately less ‘ _helpful’_ and more following Lord Big and Muscly’s instructions:

 _Source number 4_ : Septa Baela. – In her first week in the castle, especially after Lord Baratheon’s departure, it quickly became apparent to Sansa that Lord Big and Muscly had - _in addition to her having a lady in waiting follow her around_ \- also requested the services of the septa to keep an eye on Sansa and well as help convince Sansa to not become a silent sister and just marry him, so that they could get on with making mini-lords.

It was actually quite entertaining to discuss the matter with the old gal. – From their rather lengthy talks, Sansa clearly had more knowledge on the specifics of the ‘ _marital duty_ ’ than Septa Baela did. The older woman clearly thought that Sansa was possibly scared of sex or at least scared of ‘ _a man’s needs_ ’ as she put it. Which had made Sansa wonder how the woman would react if Sansa explained to her that the act – _at least in the 20 th century_ – was more about _pleasure_ than about _making babies_ , or showed her a few scenes from any James Bond film or certain TV shows.

 

Apart from these, her final source of information was whatever she was able to remember from what she had learnt in school and what her grandfather had told her... and of course her iPad and iPhone.

However, the whole issue with her electronic gadgets was to make sure nobody noticed them, or at least noticed them when turned on... For this Sansa was more than grateful for her motherhouse story: with it she had the excuse of being pious and could spend loads of time alone in the sept or even the godswood.

Though Septa Baela as well as Eddard Stark had been perplexed about finding her next to the castle’s heart tree, Sansa had quickly explained that her head-septa had encouraged her students to learn and understand other religions to help further their understanding of other people. - And there was the added fact that she had found ‘ _sanctuary’_ against a heart tree when she had been attacked.

Unlike the sept, the godswood had the added benefit of less likely of being interrupted or spied on, as Sansa had quickly identified that her ancestor was the only one in the whole castle to follow the Old Gods. Plus, there was also the fact that since it was outside she could charge her phone or iPad, with her solar charger.

Nevertheless, even with these added tools, Sansa was more than frustrated about her lack of an Internet connection. Not being able to look up information about the specific time she lived in was extremely inconvenient, but it was also frustrating for less consequential matters; for example, to know that she would probably never get to watch more of the HBO show _Game of Thrones_ and find out if Jon Snow was alive or not... _though he probably totally is_ *...

 

**. . .**

 

As the days continued, the many things she had to learn about life in the Dragon Age became so much that Sansa decided to start a set of guidelines to help her through it: - **_Step 3_** : ‘ _A Time travellers Guide to the Dragon Age_ ’**

 

_Rule 1 – Do not do or say anything before thinking about it first._

 

_Rule 2 - Check with Edmure about...well, pretty much everything._

 

Some rules were obvious: 

_Rule 3: Do not wear any modern clothes_

On the other hand, for all the gorgeous dragon age gowns she had been given, Sansa insisted in keeping all her modern stuff – even if was not appropriate to show or wear, in public. Such example was: she could not stop sleeping in her teddy; the long nightgowns she had been given were just too stuffy and itchy to sleep in.

Yet, Sansa had been more than shocked when she had found out that the septa thought that her jeans where some kind of _chastity belt_. – Sansa would most likely remember till the day she died the way the old gal had sat her down and patted her arm, saying that here - _in her ‘betrothed’s castle’_ \- Sansa was safe, and no harm would come to her; and even if Sansa did not actually need the ‘ _added security_ ’, she would totally understand if Sansa wanted to protect herself from the ‘ _eagerness_ ’ of men.

 

 _Rule 4: N_ _ever mention or show anything in her bag to anyone_

Though, actually, with the horrifying realisation of so many things ‘missing’ in this time, Sansa had been spurred to make an inventory of all her possessions in her rut-sac bag.

Emptying the items on her bed, there had of course first been her iPhone and iPad as well as her passport, all which Lord Big and Muscly & Co had looked at. With a blush, Sansa had then remembered his question about her choice of underwear, which proved that he had clearly looked further down inside the bag.

She wondered how much of her things he had seen. Lord Big and Muscly had made his interest clear about wanting to know more about her iPhone, iPad, and passport, as well as her clothes in general, but he had made no mention on her supply of soap, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, all still in their plastic bags. She had also found two oranges that she had forgotten about, as well as a few _chocolate bars_! – Sansa had actually done a victory dance when finding these!

Another prised item was her _feminine products_ \- make up and others items - which she had hugged tightly to her chest when the relief of still having them (- as well as be greatly relieved in using a cup instead of tampons***).

As for the rest: Sansa found her father’s gun - once more hoping that she wouldn’t actually need it -, and then was definitely more than surprised when she also found several fireworks as well as a box of condoms, both which had obviously been slipped in by Arya; - clearly her cousin hadn’t understood the concept of folding and organising her bag and had run out of space.

 

Similarly: 

_Rule 5: Do not mention anything from beyond the Dragon Age._

In addition to getting used to not having any of the ‘ _New World’_ foods and discoveries there were certain things Sansa quickly realised she could not mention for fear of at the very least being considered eccentric... or worse a crazy person and sent to the Dragon Age equivalent to an asylum _– whatever that was..._?

This list unfortunately was pretty long; it included most general 20th Century common knowledge, that the world was not flat but round, the discovery of the Americas, most of the scientific experiments and inventions...

On the other hand, this did not mean Sansa could not make a few _improvements_ based on what she had ‘ _learned from her motherhouse_ ’.

In addition to giving Beth several recipes– _everyone definitely enjoyed the pizzas and cookies_ – Sansa introduced the rolling pin and a few other devices to the kitchens, especially with a little help from the armourer and carpenter.

In the same way, the laundresses were pleased to find their job much easier with washboards and a simple wringer and wooden clothespins, the seamstresses thrilled with seam ripper, pinking shears, and rotary cutter... and the night guards definitely warmer, and happier for it, while patrolling the walls, when Sansa had shown them how to use wine skins as hot-water bottles.

 

However the most of her instructions were to make sure the general hygiene of the castle were closer to a 20th century standard.

Some were easier to convince than others: the cooks clearly found the need to boil any water used for cooking or drinking, and to wash their hands before preparing every meal bothersome, but gave in easily enough, since she had given them loads of new recipes. The maetser had looked even more sceptical when she had insisted that alcohol would sterilise wounds or when she had made a few suggestions on how to deal with waste: food waste as well as body waste.

 

The most humorous had been with Mary when Sansa had talked about baths. She still remembered the look of horror on Mary’s face, when Sansa had informed her that she would take a bath every day, either in her chambers or in the bathhouse, leading the other woman to protest:

“You will become ill if you bathe so frequently!”

Sansa had insisted: “I’ll be fine; it is the norm at the motherhouse.”

Even a few days later, when Sansa had washed her hair – _sneaking her shampoo and conditioner_ \- Mary had been chatting away about the latest gossip she had heard as she combed Sansa’s hair (-something Sansa was still getting used to-), when Mary finally had the courage to comment:

“Ye’ve the loveliest hair, m-lady.”

Sansa smiled softly: “I use a _special_ soap. I would more than happy to lend you some.”

Looking up through the mirror to the other woman, she had held back her laugh when she had noticed Mary looking quite doubtful, even certain fear and trepidation in her eyes.

 

            _Rule 9 - Learn ‘womanly behaviour’_

Growing up Sansa had always been considered a ‘ _little princess_ ’, with impeccable manners and grace; - especially in comparison to Arya. However, Sansa quickly realised that there were certain ‘ _lady manners and etiquette_ ’ she wasn’t entirely sure how to do – or at least do _properly_. One such example was curtsying: one more thing for Mary to teach her (- whilst _not_ telling the other women). - When Mary had obviously been confused as to why Sansa didn’t know how to do basic acts of being a lady, thankfully Sansa was able to convince her that in the motherhouse there was no need for such a thing, since everyone was to be equal: ‘ _in the eyes of the Gods they were all their subjects, no matter high born or low born_ ’.

 

 

_Rule 10 - Learn ‘Lady of castle duties’_

Apart from instructing on the meals - and making babies- this seemed to mainly be doing a lot of sewing, repairing of existing clothes that had been torn – or at the present moment - fashioning Sansa a new wardrobe, primarily from her ‘ _sister’_ s’ gowns. - Sansa was more than relieved that, unlike Arya, she had actually been interested in ‘ _girly things_ ’ growing up and that fashion was one of her double-major subjects; so she definitely knew about embroidery, fabrics, patterns...

Unfortunately she quickly learned there were a few other things also included in the role: lots of prayer, her daily life as Lady would also include discussions on tournaments, betrothals, marriages, poetry, courtly love... She was expected to oversee the education to highborn girls in the keep – in this case, only Shireen. In addition to meals, Sansa was to ensure stores were sufficiently stocked, as well as be able to take their husband’s place if he was absent: expected to look after the finances, supervise the farming, settle disputes...

Thankfully, since Sansa was not married to Lord Baratheon – _not even betrothed_... _definitely not betrothed_ – and the fact that she had just arrived, a few of these were taken care by others.

 

Some of the rules were more recommendations than anything else, for when Sansa felt like she was about to explode from all the duties, the curious stares, Septa Baela’s nagging...:

            _Rule 15 - When all else fails, spend time with the kids_

In addition to joining Shireen in her lessons – and sometimes being able to convince Maester Cressen to join the boys’ lessons – Sansa genuinely liked spending time with the young crowd and getting smiles on their faces. It was through them that she would find most joy; especially since they did not seem to judge her, question her, or find odd the way she acted.

The one she found it the most delightful to be around was sweet, shy Shireen. – Sansa still remembered the girl’s cries of jubilation, eyes sparkling in wonder when Sansa had given her first ‘ _gift’_ :

One afternoon in the garden area, after the nurse-maid had read about a certain dragon tale, Shireen had watched on in keen interest as Sansa carefully folded a piece of paper. When Sansa made the last crease, pinching the bottom between her fingers, aimed it up high, and threw the airplane – _though calling it a dragon_ \- in the air, Shireen had shrieked with exhilaration, racing after it on her little legs, before eventually retrieving it when landing among straw. - Of course, the little girl’s exclamations had gotten the attention of many in the yard, including the boys, who had then demanded their own.

 

And then there were certain rules had come about through accidental circumstances:

  _Rule 18: Make sure door is **locked** – even the one Mary uses – before doing daily yoga stretches and ballet routine._

Sansa had clearly scared the other lady out of her mind when Mary had found her in the middle of a _King Pigeon Pose_ ; Mary had thought Sansa was trying to torture herself...

 

. . .

 

Through all this, at the start of her second week in Storm’s End, Sansa was more than pleased with her progress: she had still much to learn but it seemed like a promising start for the future.

 

And yet, she still felt quite the blow, when another – _unexpected_ – lesson on the Dragon Age was given on her tenth evening in the past.

Sansa was sewing quietly with Septa Baela and Mary. Shireen had already taken to bed, and Edmure was with the older boys, having finally warmed to them. That was when – _of course_ \- Septa Baela brought up once more the subject of ‘ _marriage’_ :

“Lady Tully, your embroidery is as unique as it is impressive; the stitching on the gown is beautiful. I was wondering: have you thought what sort of design you are planning for your bridal gown and cloak?”

Sansa looked up from her work to sneak a glance at Mary and noticed the other woman also holding back a grin, though definitely less successfully than Sansa. – Earlier Sansa had bet her lady-in-waiting that the next time Septa Baela would speak to her; it would be to discuss her ‘ _betrothal_ ’. With a sweet smile, she then quickly turned her gaze to the older gal:

“I must confess the idea did not once cross my mind, Septa Baela. I wonder why I should entertain myself with such thoughts as I will never have use for such garments.”

At her reply, she noticed Mary suppress her giggle, whilst the septa let out a huff. Mary, as well as most of the women, clearly did not understand Sansa’s reluctance to marry and have children. She even seemed to take it rather personally that Sansa didn’t want to stay in Storm’s End with her, but at least she did not voice her thoughts or wasn’t as insistent as Septa Baela.

 

Thankfully, before the septa could counter, they were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. At Sansa’s call, one of the younger servants entered, immediately curtsying and apologising – _quite profusely_ \- for interrupting, all the while edging closer to the septa.

By her semi-panicked state as well as the way she was trying to not look Sansa in the eye, it was obvious that she wanted to quickly inform Septa Baela of _something_ , whilst not further ‘ _disturbing_ ’ Sansa. However from the young woman’s general manner, Sansa curiosity only grew:

“What is amiss?”

Blinking, before blushing, the maid turned to the septa for guidance. With a returning nod, she then curtsied once more to Sansa – _clearly flustered_ \- and stammered: “It’s... it’s littl’ Edric Storm m-lady... Maester Cressen is with ‘im, but he is only getting worse. The maester called fo’ Septa Baela’s assistance.”

Sansa momentarily frowned for not remembering the name. She was certain that he wasn’t one of the wards, so could only assume he was the son of someone she had yet to meet. - Yet remembering all the times she had been ill and had spent so many nights surrounded by carers, as well as thinking of her nephew, Rickon, who she often babysat and who was also prone to illness, Sansa’s interest peaked further:

“Please take me to the boy.”

At the statement, both women blinked at her, mouths slightly gaping. Even Mary from the corner of her eye looked surprised. Not understanding, but not really caring what had them so shocked, Sansa stood up to reinforce her directive.

Thankfully at the action, all seemed to have regained their senses and the maid lead them into the hallway, down the main staircase.

 

They trekked quite a fair bit of the keep, before they crossed a long hallway, and ultimately ending up in a chamber so small Mary and the maid had to stay at its entrance. Inside, the maester was standing by the bed holding a small boy’s hand. Upon Septa Baela and her entrance, however, he looked up; - Sansa briefly detected the surprise in his eyes when he noticed her, but by then most of her attention was on the patient. Studying him, Sansa felt her heart break slightly: he looked so young, could only be a few years older than Shireen. Strangely she also oddly felt a small sense of familiarity about him.

As Septa Baela moved further into the room, Maester Cressen finally spoke softly: “His fever continues to burn.”

Eyes still on the boy, Sansa couldn’t help but ask: “May I come closer, and examine him?”

Cressen blinked: “O-of course Lady Tully.”

Sansa was not too fazed, by now she had gotten use to continually surprising the old man (and the others) especially after all her suggestions to improve the castle’s hygiene. Closer, she noticed further how pale the child was, the only colour from the unnatural flush of fever in his cheeks. He looked to be barely breathing. She laid a hand on his cheek, and was disheartened to note him hot and dry to the touch.

In a gentle voice that she reserved for Rickon - _and now Shireen_ \- Sansa spoke:

“Edric, sweety, can you open your eyes for me, please?”

Thankfully, in response, his eyes fluttered open, relief running through Sansa: at least he was still conscious. She pulled one of his lower eyelids down gently, pleased again for not finding jaundice.

“Do you think you are strong enough to sit up for me?” - He nodded.

She put an arm under his shoulders, raising him to a sitting position. Lifting his nightshirt, she put an ear to his back, listening as best she could to his lungs. He definitely had some congestion in his lower lobes but some air was moving. The only other irregularity was that he seemed very dehydrated. After asking him if his throat hurt – “ _not really”_ – and if his tummy hurt – “ _yes”_ \- Sansa believed he most likely had pneumonia.

In the 20th century this would be easily cured: fluids, antibiotics and respiratory therapy. She didn’t think his fever was dangerously high. As long as it wasn’t, she would do nothing to bring it down; it was most likely one of the body’s defences against infection. But there were things she could do to help him.

She looked up at Maester Cressen who was looking at her in great interest: “He has been having difficulty breathing.” - It wasn’t really a question but the older man nodded nonetheless.

After a pause, remembering Gran Branda’s mixtures, Sansa finally asked: “Do you have any rosemary?” - Another nod.

“A tiny bit of rosemary into water and having the person breathe the steam helps with this.”

“Does it?”

Voice more confident, Sansa nodded: “Yes, it does. In fact, if we concentrate the steam he breathes, he will soon start coughing up all the...mucus... _bad stuff_. - It is important to get him coughing effectively.”

“How do we concentrate the steam?”

“We need a kettle of hot water, a bit of rosemary, a large bowl and towels - _cloth_. We also need to get him to drink as much as we can. An infusion of peppermint and honey should be good. We can add a sprig of rosemary too so it works from the inside out.”

Septa Baela spoke: “This could truly work?”

Thankfully, either because of her earlier suggestions or the fact that she was from a great house or _something_ , the maester seemed fascinated instead of weary; his gaze shifting from Sansa’s, he replied the older woman:

“Nothing else has worked. I cannot see that it will do any harm at all.”

The septa gave a determined nod before turning to the maid and Mary: “Then please see that her ladyship gets her requested ingredients.”

Both quickly bobbed a curtsy before quickly rushing down the hall.

Waiting their return, Sansa stroked Edric’s cheek, before leaving his side to open the window slightly, circulating the stuffy air. Once the two women were back, Sansa filled the bowl with steaming water and a sprig of rosemary. She proceeded to sit next to him, before lifting Edric from the bed onto her lap, with the women’s help. Both settled Sansa draped the towel over the bowl and both their heads.

Feeling the maester as well as the women’s gaze on them - in a mix of curiosity and possibly trepidation - Sansa felt like she needed to say something:

“The towel holds the steam for a bit, but we will have to keep replacing the hot water to keep it steaming.”

As for the little boy, he gave her a weak smile: “It smells good.”

Sansa returned the smile: “Well, sweety, you will also be getting a lovely drink that _tastes_ good.”

 

The next few hours were spent concentrating on trying to loosen the congestion and help Edric start coughing it up, with what they had on hand. Everyone worked together, following Sansa’s guidance, until finally the boy was able to take deep breaths and give a nice strong cough, bringing up mucus. While it was a greenish yellow colour, Sansa was thrilled that it had no blood. By the look on their faces, both the maester and the septa were also amazed that it had worked.

“He needs to rest for a while, but we can keep the bowl of steaming water near the head of his bed. It will still help. – I’ll stay awake with him.”

Despite the others’ protests, Sansa was resolute to stay at the boy’s side and that they should get some deserved rest.

 

At some point in the night, Edric stirred in his sleep: he woke needing to use the chamber pot; - at least that meant he was beginning to rehydrate. She had him drink more of the mint tisane, before sitting with him under the makeshift steam tent.

It was then that Sansa heard the scrap of the heavy wooden door being opened. Looking up from the towel, she identified Eddard Stark frozen at the door.

In the ten days she had been at Storm’s End, Sansa had actually been surprised by how little she would see her ancestor, even if they would sometimes – _very briefly_ \- cross paths in the Godswood. Sansa had assumed that Lord Big and Muscly would have also recruited his best-budd in convincing Sansa to marry him.

Then she had wondered if it had actually been something her ‘ _betrothed’_ had said, for Eddard to keep his distance, but soon came to realise that he was just very uncomfortable around women in general; – hence why he had barely spoken ten words to her.

 

Upon their gazes meeting, Sansa gave him an encouraging smile. His cheeks going slightly pink, he asked tentatively. “H-how is he?”

“The congestion is clearing.”

“A-and the fever?”

“He still has a fever, but he isn’t terribly hot. As long as the fever isn’t too high and he drinks a lot, it should be fine…”

From under the towel, Edric called out: “Ser Eddard, this smells nice.”

The hint of a slight smile appeared on the man’s lips: “Does it, lad?”

“Aye.”

After the lad had breathed the steam for a while, Sansa said, “Now, little man, show Ser Eddard the proper way to breathe deep and cough.”

He grinned back: “You do it like this.”

He breathed in and out deeply and after the third breath in, he gave one strong cough, clearing more mucus. Sansa smiled at him: “Well done. Now do that several times and have a little more to drink, then I want you to rest again.”

 

By the time Sansa tucked Edric into the bed, and the boy had fallen asleep, Eddard had moved further into the room. When she looked up, Eddard was looking at her so strangely, that Sansa suddenly felt very self-conscious.

Most likely noticing her fluster, he spoke: “Thank you, Lady Tully, for what you have done for Edric.”

Sansa felt herself blush slightly, as she smiled back: “No thanks necessary, I only did what I could for the boy to get better. He isn’t there yet, and it may be a while before he is, but I think things are looking up.”

His brows furrowed in wonder: “Did you learn about healing at the motherhouse?”

Sansa looked away: “I learnt from my own troubled childhood. The number of times I was with a maester, I picked up quite a few things.”

Eddard gave an stiff nod: “It seems you have.”

 

Wanting to draw the attention away from herself, Sansa looked back down at her patient snuggled next to her. Her voice low, eyes on the sleeping form, she asked: “What’s his story?”

“Edric?... He... he is naught but a bastard, my lady.”

At the response, Sansa looked up at Eddard, gaping in whispered horror: “ _Bastard_?! That’s a horrible thing to say! Why do you call him that?! - He... he is just a small boy! What should people call you? 'Donkey-Brain'?”

He blinked at her in shock, either at what she was asking him or her language or both, before his face frowned in confusion:

“You think I am insulting him, my lady?... I truly meant no insult: merely referring to his birth.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to frown: “His birth?”

Puzzled, her ancestor explained carefully: “He is _illegitimate_ , my lady; - he was born out of wedlock...”

Sansa’s brows creased further, as she looked back down at the boy. She was about to ask who his parents were – _where_ they were - when she suddenly realised why he had seemed familiar when she had first looked at him: he had the same black hair and blue eyes to Renly... and _Lord Big and Muscly_. –

\- Outrage ran through Sansa’s veins: Renly was barely thirteen, which meant Lord _You-have-to-give-me-heirs_ Baratheon had gotten another woman pregnant... and by the looks of the room was barely providing his _son_!?! Even worse, by the boy’s young face, Lord Baratheon had most likely slept with the mother when he was married to Sansa’s ‘ _sister_ ’!!?!

Clearly her rage was visible, and he had understood the meaning behind it, because Eddard soon added in protest: “ _L_ ady Tully: Edric is Ser _Robert_ Baratheon’s bastard.”

A sliver of doubt went through Sansa, meeting his gaze: “ _Robert_?”

Relief shinning in his eyes, he nodded sadly: “Aye, Lord Baratheon’s other brother. Rumour is that he is collecting quite a few.”

But Sansa was far from satisfied: “So why is Edric _here_ , and not with his father?”

Eddard looked at her even more confused: “His wife would not allow it. In any case, if I may be so bold, it is clear that Ser Robert is not as good in the raising of children as he is at the... _hum_ , _making_.”

“W-where are the rest of his children?”

“Most are from lowborn, they are provided for to a certain extent, but are not recognised. In Edric’s case, Lord Baratheon forced his brother to acknowledge the boy; – especially how it happened.”

Curiosity growing, Sansa couldn’t help but ask: “What happened?”

Becoming quite flustered, Ser Eddard, looked down at the boy: “I suppose that they would not have told you such a tale at the motherhouse.”

“I am not in a motherhouse now.”

Still not meeting her eye, he finally answered: “Ser Robert shamed Lord Baratheon and your sister during their wedding feast. He... he deflowered your cousin, Lady Relena Whent... on...”

“ _On_?”

An awkward cough: “On... on the wedding bed, whilst the newlyweds were still dancing downstairs. Their coupling led to the birth of Edric here; he is Ser Robert’s only acknowledged child since his mother is highborn. – Lord Baratheon would have most likely forced Ser Robert to marry your cousin if he hadn’t already been married.”

There was a long pause, Sansa going over all the information her ancestor had just told her. Ultimately, one thing bugged her above all others:

“If Lord Baratheon took him in, why have I not seen him with the other boys? Why does he not join them during Maester Cressen’s lessons? Why is he in such a room...?”

At the questions, Eddard’s face darkened slightly – this time not in embarrassment: “Both Lord Baratheon and your sister were... _angered_ by the event, more so for your sister. L-lady Baratheon considered Edric a blight to the Riverlands and your mother’s House; she pushed for the boy to be sent away, out of sight. No matter her protests, Lord Baratheon knew that the boy should still be given a home in his father’s House. So, in return, Lady Lysa insisted that he be kept here; she refused to have him near.”

“Well, my sister is no longer here, _I_ am. And whilst I am here, he will be given a better room as well as join the other boys in their lessons!”

Although a glimmer of hope was visible on his face, Eddard questioned Sansa: “My lady do you not care that he was born out of wedlock? That your cousin and Ser Robert shamed your sister and Lord Baratheon?”

Sansa huffed: “Why should I care? – It is not his fault that his parents hadn’t said their vows before his father gave in to his ‘ _lustful urges_ ’ and his mother decided to lift her skirts. I think you’re a pretty big bastard for caring one way or another. – And actually if I hear anyone calling him a _bastard_ , I will make sure they regret it.”

Slight tilt of the head, his eyes shone with an inquisitive light. “You are a curious lady if you don’t mind me saying, Lady Tully.”

Sansa bit back a dry laugh: “Oh...more than you know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hope the scene with Edric/ ‘curing’ Edric didn’t seem too farfetched – based on own memories as a kid + extra research/reading.
> 
> * - couldn’t resist the wink: since in this story the time line has changed quite a few things from the ASOIAF story thought that there could still be a show called ‘Game of Thrones’ that is ‘very loosely based’/ a varying depiction of Westeros/Essos History ;)
> 
> ** - small wink to the book and film: ‘ _A Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy’_
> 
> *** - Felt a tiny bit odd putting this in, but thought that some might wonder how Sansa would survive her periods whilst in the Dragon Age. Went with her using a cup on the obvious reason that she wouldn’t ‘run-out’ of stock, unlike tampons...
> 
> **** - I know that in the books Stannis refused Edric and shipped him off to Storm’s End with Renly, but in this story, being the elder brother as well as his friendship with Eddard and his sense of duty, I making it so Stannis would have taken in Edric in.


	14. PART I, Chapter 13 - Between Two Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Readings, researching, conversations, walks, storms and stories...
> 
> (... and possible foreshadowing?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Great Thank You! fo Sarah_Black for Beta reading and helping with develop this story :)
> 
> \- sorry that this chapter is a little longer than previous ones - kind of wanted to plot to move along ;)

 

With a long defeated sigh, Sansa put the large volume down, the task of reading it now proving useless as its words were only becoming a blur. Like the many books before it, as well as the little she had found on her phone and iPad, there seemed to be nothing in Storm’s End that could help her.

 

In the last week or so, in addition to trying to get to know her surroundings better, Sansa had also tried to understand _how_ exactly she had travelled 1700 years back in time, as well as try to find a way _‘back to the Future_ ’ (- _just like Marty McFly, ha!_ )

She must have looked through the whole of the Storm’s End library by now - getting a few interested looks from both the septa and the maester in the process - trying to find any piece of information that could help. She had looked through the History books, books about different religions – especially about the Old Gods – but they were unfortunately greatly lacking in useful information... She even looked at any book she could find regarding gold or jewellery in general… She had also spied a few books on magic, mostly focusing on - _unfortunately_ \- blood magic, which had horrified her so much that she had not been able to continue reading it. - _Who would burn an innocent child_ ?… _their own child_?... Thankfully she had also found a few books about the History of Storm’s End mentioning the ‘magic’ in the castle as well as the possible magic in the Rainwood Forest, in relation with their past history with the Children of the Forest; but there again these had been footnotes more than anything else.

Of course in addition to all this research, Sansa frantically tried to remember the incident of her ‘arrival’ as much as possible; racking her brain for any more clues she might have previously missed. There weren’t even any strange markings or scratches on either her finger or the ring itself that could give her any sort of clue _how_ she could get home...

From the amount she remembered, she had ended up trying to prick her finger, closing her eyes, and thinking of home. Sansa had not only done this in the safety of her own chambers, but had gone to the castle’s godwoods as well as the sept, trying the same actions over and over. She even tried pricking herself whilst wearing the ring, making sure some blood covered it. (- She might have also done all these various trials whilst saying Dorothy’s famous words: “ _there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home”_.)

 

It was all in vain. Nothing Sansa could come up with worked.

 

There would be no avoiding it anymore. - No more ignoring the small voice in the back of her mind. Sansa’s next destination – and attempt - needed to be where she actually first appeared: at the old heart tree, at the edge of the Rainwood Forest.

She had thought of it from the start that if it would work _somewhere_ , it would be _where_ she had actually _‘landed’_ , but Sansa hadn’t honestly been all that eager to leave the castle walls. Even if the men who had actually attacked her had been in the 20 th century, and not in the Dragon Age, Sansa wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be any safer to wander randomly down a country road in this time: – it would most likely be ten times _less safe_.

 

Wondering so intently on of _how_ exactly she would get to the heart tree (- it wasn’t like she had _‘Google Maps_ ’ to show her the way, or even a _yellow brick road_ , not to mention the tree being quite far from Storm’s End… -) Sansa nearly didn’t hear the scrape of the heavy ironwood door opening. She looked up to see who was entering the space only to let out an internal groan: _Maester Cressen_.

Sansa didn’t think there was anything actually wrong with the old guy, he was actually quite a pleasant, not only an intelligent but also a rather sensible man (- at least seemed more clear-headed and reasonable than a _certain_ lord). And yet somehow this nice maester-guy had become the bane to her current existence. Every time he was near her, Sansa couldn't help but feel his gaze on her more than once, even when she would turn and find him speaking to someone else or reading or simply looking in another direction. Sansa thought it had to be that the presence of her scar, her _‘spiritedness_ ’ as Septa Baela called it, and her ‘innovations’ throughout the keep that was  piquing the maester’s interest in her.

Still not sure how to behave in the presence of the castle’s maester, Sansa rose from her chair as Cressen gave her a slight bow.

“Lady Tully.”

“Maester Cressen.”

“Young Edric seems to continue to have regained more color this morning.”

- _Ah yes_ … Another cause of the old guy’s growing fascination with her: Edric Storm. The whole incident with the five year old boy two days ago hadn’t made her any less interesting to maester Cressen. He seemed intrigued by not only her ‘medical knowledge’ but her whole relationship and general manner around a _‘bastard’_ whose parents had slighted her _‘sister’_ and _‘future-husband’_.

She had actually already gone to check on the boy this morning, now in his improved (- _non-Harry-Potter-style-cupboard_ -) bedroom (much closer to her own and even to his cousin’s), where she had actually read to both Shireen and him about Aemon the Dragonknight.

Sansa’s slightly forced calmness changed to a genuine smile, despite her discomfort with the maester. “I am glad to hear it. Soon he will hopefully be joining the other boys for lessons and sword practice.” (-another possible sore subject: the boy’s future in the keep, especially in relation to Lord Big and Muscly’s _‘trueborn_ ’ wards.)

However before Sansa let the maester give any sort of response to her comment, she quickly added: “I actually was about to go search for Ser Cortnay Penrose, to inquire about Edmure’s training*; would you happen to know where he would be?”

Thankfully, the maester informed her that Ser Penrose was in the castle courtyard, and, determined not to give him a chance to ask her any questions, she hurriedly nodded: I will leave you in peace with the books,” before taking her leave without waiting for a response.

 

**.**

 

Once in the courtyard, as per the helpful maester indications, Sansa soon found Ser Cortnay near the training yard a young knight, only a couple of years older than her, by his side.

As she approached, she couldn't help but observe both men straighten their stance when noticing her, and , in turn couldn't help but smile to herself, appreciating one of the little perks about being a _‘lady of a Great House_ ’. Everyone basically treated her like a princess.

Although she was pretty sure the internal population of Storm’s End could possibly equate to that of a small town, Sansa had made it point to try and learn as many of the castle’s occupants names as possible, and thankfully in this case it paid off, able to greet both men appropriately (and with an added an extra touch of grace and courtesy hoping it would make them all that more amiable to her request).

“Ser Cortnay Penrose, Ser Justin Massey.”

Both knights bowed in return, murmuring, “Lady Tully”. Sansa could have sworn there was a small glimmer of pride in Ser Massey’s eyes, and she hoped it was because she had been able to address him by name. Despite his gratification, he had the good sense to take his leave, letting Sansa with the castellan.

 

Putting on her sweetest, award winning smile, she turned the full ‘ _Sansa charm’_ on the remaining knight: “Ser Penrose, I was wondering if I could borrow three of your finest knights to accompany me to visit the village and the surrounding lands?”

The castellan looked at her in bewilderment: “You would like to walk through the village and the fields?”

Putting on an innocent expression, Sansa nodded: “Yes, of course. Surely if I am to ever accept Lord Baratheon’s proposal, I need to know the land I am to be the lady of?”

Ser Penrose blinked several times rather rapidly, as his mouth gaped slightly open. Eventually he managed a hesitant nod. He was one of Lord Big and Muscly’s knights who Sansa was sure knew about her rather less than enthusiastic response to any mention of marriage to his lord; obviously this knowledge was the source to his current confusion at her sudden interest in learning about being the ‘ _lady of the land_ ’.  

“Of… of course, of course… but surely you would like to visit the land with Lord Baratheon. As lord of not only Storm’s End but all of the Stormlands, I can assure you that there is no one better than him to be your guide.”

“Ah, but Lord Baratheon is not here _now_ , and it is such a _beautiful_ morning. In any case, as you have pointed out, being Lord Paramount to the Stormlands, _surely_ Lord Baratheon wouldn’t have time for some sightseeing… Just think of this trip as saving him time… time that would be spent doing more important duties.”

The man’s stance and demeanor became even more uncomfortable. Sansa could tell that the man wanted to deny her request but not sure how to proceed without _‘offending her female sensibilities_ ’...

In the distance, Sansa spotted a man leading a horse out of the stables. Not admitting defeat, she quickly suggested: “In any case, we don’t have to necessarily _walk_ \- maybe we could ride horses?”

But even as she proposed the idea, Sansa thought about the huge horse she had shared with Lord Big and Muscly on the way here and couldn’t help shiver slightly. - _Hopefully, surely, the castle has smaller, more malleable ones_... However, before the knight could respond or Sansa could suggest anything else to get her out of the castle walls and hopefully closer to the heart tree, a deep sombre voice interrupted their conversation.

“Lady Tully. Ser Cortnay.”

Sansa turned to meet the silver-grey eyes of her ancestor. An even more genuine smile formed at her lips, certain that it was now reaching her eyes:

“Ser Stark. Good Morning.”

Sansa could have sworn there was an odd flicker in his eyes at her greeting, but the next moment it was gone, as Ser Penrose also Ser Stark’s greeting.

Unfortunately, before Sansa had time to say any more (or  return to convincing Ser Penrose to bring her to the old heart tree, the northern-man informed him that some of the younger knights and squires were in need of the Master at Arms.* The castellan actually looked relieved by the dismissal, much to Sansa’s dismay. She couldn’t help but look on in despair as Ser Penrose joined the other men training in the yard. How was she suppose to get out of the castle and go the tree now?

Turning her attention back to Ser Stark, she couldn't help but glare at him; she had been _so close_ before he had come along.

 

However - _frustratingly_ \- her ancestor seemed less than perturbed by her scowl (- _probably because he is sooo used to Lord Big and Muscly’s_ -) and instead proposed that they enjoy the nice weather and visit the godswood, as he knew she liked doing. With a small pout, Sansa reluctantly agreed, before finding the courage to ask _why_ he could not have waited a few minutes more before interrupting her conversation with Ser Penrose?

They started slowly walking away from the training grounds and closer to the Godswood where the castle’s heart tree stood, as Ser Stark bluntly stated that the man ‘ _needed saving’_ , earning a look of bewilderment from Sansa.

His lips quirked ever so slightly: “My lady, I think he feared that he would receive no more of the fine new dishes or of the tasty treats you have introduced to the keep. - You are a force to be reckoned with, and the ladies in the kitchen are one of your biggest devotees.”

Playing the innocent, Sansa quirked her eyebrow in challenge: “And why would he fear my wrath?”

Ser Stark welcomed the question with an actual smile - albeit, a small one: “Because he was about to deny your request, my lady.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Lady Tully, even though he fears your wrath, Ser Cortnay takes his duties seriously. And I am certain he fears Lord Stannis’ fury more.”

Sansa blinked, nearly tripping on the hem of her gown, half wondering why she had not anticipated this. Her tone harsher, she asked: “Lord Baratheon ordered that I stay within the castle walls?”

The northern-man looked contrite as he answered: “Whilst he is away, _yes_ . You are his charge, my lady; you have been placed in his care by your lord father until you marry.” Upon noticing her glare, he quickly added, “... _or_ take your vows. He gave the order for your protection, my lady. How could he ever look Lord Tully in the eye and tell him you were attacked not once but _twice_ on his lands _…_ in the span of a few days, no less?”

Sansa looked towards the trees that were still a few steps away, before deciding to reveal her true motive, hoping that it would persuade him. Truthfully she actually didn’t want to keep such a thing from Ser Stark:

“I told Ser Penrose I wanted to see the surrounding lands, but it is more than that: I want to go see the heart tree where I was found...”

At his raised eyebrow and inquisitive stare, Sansa pushed forward, her eyes widening to form her best puppy look and a small - but very cute - pout: “I am still having some trouble remembering everything from the incident... even from before it, and I wanted to see if it would help me at all to go back there… Surely if several knights came with me, yourself included, Lord Baratheon would understand the reason for the trip.”

His face regretful, as well as slightly red and awkward, Ser Stark shook his head: “Not without his lordship. He would not permit it.”

Sansa let out a huff of annoyance – even when he wasn't here Lord Big and Muscly was ruining her day! Turning her frustrations on the poor man in front of her, Sansa pointedly asked: “Truthfully, do you think _Lord Baratheon_ would actually be interested in what I do in the keep or even make the time to bring me to the Rainwood Forest?”

Taking a few more steps closer to the heart tree, seeming to look away from her hard stare, Ser Stark stammered: “O-of course he would…”

“Oh really? Can you _really_ tell me that Lord Baratheon actually cares two shi- _hum_ … actually cares about me at all? - I could be _any woman_ , he just wants his _heirs_!”

His stance becoming even more tense, the man still continued to defend ‘ _Lord I-want-things-my-way’_ : “Of course not, Lady Tully… I am sure he cares for you: You are a lady of a Great House, pious, well educated, young, beautiful - _hum_ -also, also you have made many improvements to the management of the keep, you care for your house as well as for the children…”

“Ser Stark you are very kind, but I doubt Lord Baratheon noticed even half those things during the few days he was here and could have spoken to me, but instead chose to sit and grumble in his solar. I know that you care for the man but I find it ridiculous that he just expects everyone to bow to his will and not question it. Even while he’s been away, he has not bothered to write.”

“Of course he has written.”

Sansa stopped abruptly before facing Ser Stark head on, mouth slightly agape. “He _has_?- W...why… why was I not told… not brought his letter?”

Ser Stark’s eyes widened slightly, before he quickly looked down and his feet guiltily: “That is to say… What I meant to say is, _hum_ , Lord Stannis wrote to say that they had arrived at Nightsong... and asked about the state of the castle… If there had been any important missives since his departure...”

As her ancestor continued to blabber through a mix of semi-explanations, Sansa’s stomach sunk, as her fury and her… _sadness_ ? rose. Lord _‘You-need-to-marry-me_ ’s interest in her was so minute that he hadn't even bothered to write a few lines to her. She was not deemed important enough to be remembered or acknowledged, even though he intended to make her his _wife_.

_-No_! She chastised herself. She would not let him affect her so much! If he did not care two shits about her, she wouldn’t allow herself to think about him either.

Possibly reading her thoughts from the frown on her face, there was a slight blush on his cheeks as Eddard confessed: “Lord Stannis _did_ inquire as to the progression of your betrothal?”

Sansa’s tinge of disappointment - _or whatever_ it was – now definitely changed to irritation. tone cooler, she asked through gritted teeth: “Oh really? And, may I ask, what was your reply?”

Ser Stark shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other: “I only informed Lord Stannis of your many improvements of the keep, but d-didn’t delve into that particular matter. I am sure Septa Baela or your ladyship will be able to answer his questions upon his return.”

Sansa quirked her eyebrow as she let out an amused huff: “In other words, similar to Ser Cortnay Penrose, you would rather not possibly lose the privilege of tasting new dishes or tasty cookies.”

With a small smile and his cheeks tinged pink, Ser Stark huffed out unconvincingly: “I have no idea what you are inferring, Lady Tully.”

There was a small pause, and it was as if a more cheery feeling was enveloping the two of them. Sansa edged them towards the heart tree, and when she was about to sit, she was surprised to have Ser Stark offer his hand in helping her sit as comfortably as possible on the large roots of the tree without dirtying her dress. Giving him a grateful smile, she thanked him.

 

Both settled, there was a long but comfortable silence. The godswood was very quiet and peaceful. All that could be heard was the southern breeze going through the red leaves, creating patterns of light above their heads. Sansa was so caught in the scenery, so mesmerised by the beauty of the colours and  her memories of the heart tree in Winterfell she would read under growing up, she nearly forgot she wasn’t alone. That was until Ser Stark’s deep voice broke through her nostalgic thoughts, sounding concerned:

“Lady Tully?”

Her gaze moving back down to face him, Sansa blinked at him, before realizing what the source of his concern had been. A few tears seemed to have slid down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped them away before knotting her hands together on her lap, her eyes looking at them intently as she murmured a soft, “it’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing, my lady.”

Looking up to meet his worried gaze, Sansa saw that Ser Stark’s own hands were clenched into fists. He was staring out towards the large drum tower: “Is... is it your possible betrothal to Lord Stannis that troubles you, my lady?”

“That among other things...” Sansa said with a soft smile.

There was a slightly pause, and Ser Stark was clearly thinking something over before he finally turned his gaze back on her.

“Lady Tully, do you know that both Lord Stannis and I were sent to the Eyrie to become Lord Arryn’s wards?”

Sansa nodded: “Yes, of course.”

“Did you know that for nearly the whole of our first year, neither of us cared for the other?”

Sansa blinked, her eyes widening: “Really?”

With a soft chuckle and a small smile on his lips, he nodded: “Aye. I found him prideful, arrogant and cold. It was only later that I realised that Stannis had no idea how else to act around me. He had never had never really interacted with any boys his age before. In Storm's End, he had his younger brother, who already had a very different personality to himself, his lord parents and the other adults in charge of him. Knowing he was his father’s heir and then becoming Lord of the Stormlands at such a young age, Stannis did not allow himself to enjoy his childhood. Too quickly he had forced himself to think only of his duty.”

“When did he become lord? What happened to his father?”

A slight frown formed on his face, but Ser Stark still answered her question: “Young: at  four-and-ten. Both his parents drowned on their return from across the Narrow Sea.”

“And he was put in charge of such a large piece of land, of this castle… of … of all this?” her hands gesturing the scene and castle surrounding them.

His face and tone more solemn, Ser Stark expanded: “Not fully - but Lord Stannis does not do things in half measures; it was his duty, he saw no other option. And thus, at six-and-ten, Lord Stannis having reached his majority, and having proved himself to his lords, his uncle relinquished him his rightful role.”

“Ser... I am truly sad for Lord Baratheon, not only for losing both parents, I know the pain of losing one’s parents, but also losing his childhood so young. _However_ , it does not excuse him from him having others do his work for him. If _he_ wants to be _my_ husband it is _his duty_ to convince _me_.”

A smile returned on Ser Stark’s lips, but there was pain present in his eyes. “If there is one thing Stannis doesn’t understand it is women,” he said, his expression darkening. “He... he has not had the best experiences with them.”

“Lysa?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask.

She had already heard quite a few things about her ‘ _sister’s’_ character, and not all had been favourable to her Tully ancestor. No one ever said anything directly of course, definitely not to Sansa: a lady, their new to-be mistress (- _if_ Lord Big and Muscly got his way -), as well as the last Lady Baratheon’s own _‘sister_ ’.

And yet as the days progressed, Sansa definitely got the underlying sense that even though Lady Lysa might not been a _horrible_ person, but neither had she been all that great. There was, of course, the whole incident with Edric, treating a boy of _five_ like he had the plague. But it was more than just that: her general demeanour to the people under her care, from what the cooks, maids, even the men had hinted at, had been lacking, going beyond not thanking them, but barely treating them as human beings as well, all these small hints making Sansa think of the apt quote: ‘ _If you want to know what a man i’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals._ ’ **

There had also been one or two slightly strange comments from Mary that hinted about Lysa’s mental state, and, not two nights before, Sansa had finally found the courage to ask her lady in waiting if Lysa had loved Ser Brandon Stark, thinking that might have been the reason for a possible coldness between her ‘sister’ and Lord Baratheon. Mary had scoffed a _‘no’,_ followed by saying there was a rumour Lady Lysa had called him a ‘ _great northern brute_ ’ and apparently had been as pleased with her betrothal to their lord as she had been to the Northern heir... that is before Mary’s eyes had widened realising what she had said and _who_ she had said it to, and had quickly gone red  as she gave Sansa a mix of apologies and protests that these were only silly stories from commoners.

Seeing the way Ser Stark currently stiffened, his unease very much apparent, Sansa could only assume that he had not had a great opinion of the lady either. However as she waited for him to answer, knowing that prompting him to speak was just as likely to shut him up, Sansa sat still and quiet.

His throat seemed to be slightly dry when he finally spoke, his gaze going between Sansa and his feet.

“Lady... _hum_ \- Lord and Lady Baratheon did not have the most pleasant marriage, but it might have been expected as... well, they had both been betrothed to others not too soon before their marriage...”

 

- _Ah... of course_...

Some of his discomfort might actually be to do with his opinion of her ‘sister’ but most of it was to do with _his_ own sister. - How could Sansa have forgotten: Lady Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen running away and eloping, even though he was already married and she was engaged to his cousin. _Gods_ , it was a tale that had been studied, written about, adapted in films and TV series several times over;- even more so than Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet . But it wasn’t a story... not _here_ , not now in this _time_ : here, it was actually, something that had happened only a few years ago, something that had been lived by the people around her, some had been at the centre of this tale...

It wasn’t as if Sansa could say to Ser Stark (- and Lord Baratheon -) that this was meant to happen: ‘ _the Dragon Prince and the Ice Maiden’_ were suppose to end up together, their son was to be part of something bigger… he would be key in saving them all from the Long Night.

Nevertheless, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if Ser Stark’s awkwardness was mainly due to his own feelings and sorrow for his late sister, or if it was to do with his best friend and the possibly very awkward months following the elopement... Or if was to _’protect’_ Sansa of mentions of Stannis’ previous betrothed. Sansa then speculated on Lord Big and Muscly’s personal feelings about Princess Lyanna: _had he loved her_ ? According to Grand-Pa Ben, Lord Baratheon _had_ loved Lyanna... _Was he heartbroken when she ran away with another guy_ ? _Was it his unrequited love that doomed his marriage to Lady Lysa, and she always resented him for loving another_?...

Then again: _what did her grandfather (and loads of historians) know_?

Arya’s suggestion was that Stannis Baratheon and Eddard Stark were a secret gay couple... _Though_ , sneaking a quick glance at her ancestor, Sansa couldn’t really believe the two men were gay... On the other hand, Lord Big and Muscly did not seem to care about her or even her physical attractiveness; - he only cared about doing his _duty_ and the ‘ _having heirs’_ business.

 

A headache already forming, Sansa decided maybe it was best to not delve into that whole closet full of skeletons. Instead she gave Ser Stark a comforting smile, and decided to go for a not so far off, but safer topic: “So how were you able to see past Lord Baratheon self-importance, duty bound, ever so appealing personality? How did you go from two boys who couldn’t stand each other to being the closest of friends?”

Thankfully, the inquiry seemed to do the trick as Ser Stark sombre mood  eased, and a nostalgic grin formed in its place as the man started telling her not only of tales of the Eyrie with Lord Baratheon, but also tales of Winterfell with his two brothers and even a few including his late sister. He then went on to talk about following Lord Baratheon to Storm's End when he reached his majority, as it seemed like the obvious choice, and sharing the last few years between Winterfell and Storm's End.

In return Sansa told him about growing up with Arya, Jon and Stann (though not using the name Stann) in Winterfell (though obviously not saying where exactly she grew up), of the stories she loved as a young girl, of the large puppy she received for her ninth birthday, which she had named _‘Lady’_ , of her best friends Jeyne and Myranda...

Ser Eddard had just let out a laugh at Sansa’s latest tale of Arya’s many antics, when she felt a drop fall on her. Blinking, bringing her fingers to her cheek, she looked up to have several more rain drops fall through the leaves and land on her.

Obviously having felt the coming rain as well, Ser Eddard quickly stood, helped Sansa up, and swiftly pulled his cloak over her:

“Here, let me protect you.”

Sansa smiled at him, “Thank you,” she said,before they both ran from the godswood towards true shelter.

Within a few moments they both were drenched as the rain poured down on their heads. But Sansa did not care. She was feeling truly alive, young and carefree for the first time since she had arrived in this time, and she couldn’t help but let out a few laughs as the storm continued around them.

Finally, cheeks flushed, panting slightly, hair and clothes soaking wet, but a smile reaching her eyes, Sansa nearly missed seeing Mary at the side door, almost running into her, if not for Ser Eddard giving her a small pull back just in time.

Still laughing and thanking Ser Eddard, she did, however, miss Mary curious looks going between the two highborns.

 

**.**

 

 

Andrew let out a moan of frustration. “What shall we do?”

 

After having bathed and changed into warm dry clothes, Sansa had soon been joined by not only Shireen and Edric, but all the boys: Edmure, Renly, Andrew Estermont and Beric Dondarrion, Lord Baratheon’s other wards, as they were not allowed outside, the rain having only gotten worse and was now a full fledged storm.

Thus here they were all now, in Sansa’s make-shift ‘ _solar’_ , trying to think on what to do.

This room was another reason, Sansa was very happy to be a ‘lady from a great house’. Not two days after Lord Big and Muscly’s departure, she had found the courage to ask for her own ‘solar’. Through instead of having an office of sorts like Lord Baratheon’s, Sansa has organised the room with several rugs pillows, a few drapes coming down from the ceiling, with a few shelves, and tables for books, parchments, drinks... It was close to her own chambers, as well as near to the library, (- but not too close to disturb Maester Cressen when reading or doing lessons with the boys). Offering warmth and comfort, in less than a week it had become a place not only for her, but a space Sansa could enjoy with others – mainly the children or Mary – for reading, writing, drawing, thinking, sewing...

Thankfully, even Septa Baela hadn’t any objections as she decided to see the room as an indication of Sansa ‘ _settling into her future home’_ as well as her being with the children so much as preparation for ‘ _child rearing’_ when Sansa would have Lord Baratheon’s future sons and daughters (- Sansa might have blanched slightly when the septa had mentioned these thoughts, but it had not deterred her from spending most of her time with the children, in her ‘ _solar’_ ).

Looking through the glass panes at the gloomy scene outside, Sansa couldn’t help let out a sigh of her own, secretly also wishing she was outside, either near the old heart tree or just still in the Storm's End’s godswood with Ser Eddard talking about Winterfell.

There was another rumble from the skies, the wind whistling against the panes of glass, before Shireen’s sweet youthful voice asked: “Could we have a story, Lady Sansa?”

At the suggestion, Sansa turned to face the little lady and did not even try to stop the soft smile forming on her lips. However, before Sansa could reply to the three year old’s request, Andrew Estermont let out another huff of irritation (- clearly the boy had been hanging out too much with his older Baratheon cousin-): “ _Urgggh_ ... _please_ , not another tale of a princess in a tower saved by her knight-in-shining-armour. I’ve had enough of Jonquil and her Florian Knight to last me several lifetimes.” His words led to most of the boys nodding in agreement around him.

Noticing Shireen’s lower lip and chin starting to wobble in that ‘pre-crying’ faze, Sansa  gave a quick frown at the eleven year old boy (- and silently acknowledging that she loved _Florian and Jonquil_ as a little girl -), before retorting, coming to Shireen’s defence:

“There are many stories with ‘princess-girly’ moments but that doesn’t mean they are not also for boys. They can be full of action, heroism. - In fact I know several where the woman – the lady or princess in question - plays a vital role in the story, sometimes going so far as to not only save herself but others as well.”

The young ward looked very dubiously at Sansa, clearly not convinced. “ _Truly_?”

A more determined smile in place, Sansa gave him a curt nod: “ _Truly_ ”, before giving him the slightly altered basic plots to not only several Disney films: _Pocahontas_ , _Frozen_ , _Little Mermaid_ , _Brave_ ; but also those of _Lord of the Rings_ , _Star Wars_ , _Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter_... Of course, all too soon, most were demanding she tell one of the stories in its entirety.

Going for something a bit more appropriate for the slightly younger children, Sansa decided to go for the Little Mermaid, as it was still one of her favourites (- and the whole also having red hair). There was also that it seemed appropriate to the castle-setting they were in: Renly even pointed out its similarity with the tale of the First Storm King and his wife, Elenei, the daughter of the god of the sea. Even little Edric had seemed pleased that Prince Eric’s name was so close to his own (- that was, before Andrew Estermont retorted that he was a _bastard_ where as the prince was a _prince_ , earning him other glare from Sansa). 

Although, Sansa also quickly decided to go with the Disney version of the story, with a happy ending, rather than the darker original.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

He was cold, wet, tired, and the weather seemed likely to continue worsening for the rest of the evening, but Stannis couldn’t help but feel satisfied that he was finally _home_.

 

Moving into the inner courtyard, he dismounted and turned to make sure Lord Bryce Caron got off his own mount with not too much difficulty. Stannis, closely followed by Ser Rolland Storm and his young ward, as well as the others, quickly went inside the keep to be met by a few servants, maester Cressen, Ser Cortnay and Eddard.

However, even as he removed his wet cloak and took a lighter, dry one in its stead, all the while exchanging a few words with his men, Stannis couldn’t help but feel a small sensation of unease run through him.

He then realised what it was. Renly was missing. _Actually_ , neither his youngest brother nor his wards had not come to greet him; not even his... ‘ _daughter’_ had not been brought down for his arrival. His frown deepened. Surely it was not so late in the evening for the youths to already be sleeping? ... There was also the lack of a certain stubborn red-haired lady. Stannis’ teeth clenched slightly at the thought of the woman in question and all the troubles she was already causing.

 

Thankfully, his internal musings were quickly answered by Eddard (- most probably noticing his darkening face -) who led him, as well as the young lord and his bastard half-brother in tow, up the main stairs. They moved through the keep until Stannis ultimately noticed a half open door, light, and voices coming from within. With a confused grimace, Stannis strained his ears to make out what was being said inside the room as they continued to move closer.

 

“... _and the Sea Witch, Ursula, took the long golden trident in her hands, gaining full control of the oceans, and swirled it around her, creating a cyclone - a great big swirl of water - catching all around in its momentum, bringing many sunken ships to the surface_...”

 

The tale of this _Sea Witch_ creating a tempest, fighting a ‘ _Prince Eric_ ’ and a ‘ _Princess Ariel’_ continued as the men reached the door and Stannis softly pushed it further in.

Looking inside, he took in the scene: Lady Tully was sitting rather oddly on several pillows, whilst not only _his_ wards, _his_ brother, and _his_ ‘ _daughter_ ’ listened in, but Stannis also noticed Septa Baela and a few of the maids clearly entranced by the story... as well as Robert’s bastard, noticing the boy upon a second fuller scrutiny of the room.

 

**. . .**

 

“... _Finally the wind calmed, the clouds dissipated, allowing the morning light to shine on the water. Tired, but still alive, Ariel used what little energy she had left to pull Prince Eric to the surface and bring him back to the shore, like she had already done once before..._

_... Once on the beach, she looked down at his peaceful gaze, brushing the dark hair from his face, willing him to wake up. She didn’t even care now that she couldn’t be with the man she loved; she just wanted him to_ live...”

 

As Sansa continued, detailing Ariel’s sorrow, begging to the many gods of the sea as well as Prince Eric’s land gods to save him, she noted Shireen, Mary and a few of the other ladies, even Septa Baela, looking on heartbroken. She could even have sworn the note of panic on Renly’s face as well as an unshed tear in Andrew’s eye. But it was Edric who burst into a fit of desolation and frustration:

“But they have to be together! After all that happened they have to! What would have been the point of all that - of her coming to his world, her saving him, them falling in love - if they don’t end up together?!”

Sansa smiled sadly at him: “Yes _, ‘what would be the point_ ’? – But isn’t it better to have loved and lost rather than to never have loved at all... to at least have known the feeling once, and remember it, rather than be forever ignorant?”

Septa Baela, as well as a few of the maids actually let out small distraught gasps at the remark, before blowing their noses and wiping shed tears, whilst Edric scowled in sadness.

 

However, not wanting to make everyone so depressed, after a small pause, Sansa added:

“ _Thankfully Ariel’s father had loved; he had loved his late-wife with all his heart, and thus knew of what his daughter was feeling now. King Triton couldn’t have his daughter look so miserable for the rest of her life; she was too young to lose her love..._

_... So, taking his trident, he aimed it at his youngest daughter whose gaze was only for her beloved... The water around her shone... waves formed around her, covering the lower half of her body, before the sea calmed once more, and Ariel looked down to realise she had legs! She was human once more!..”_

Sansa continued with Ariel and Eric reuniting, as well as their wedding (- including a PG kiss scene, to which most of the boys scrunched their faces in disgust, whilst women sighed -), until Shireen, face full of joy once more, clapped the hardest and demanded Sansa sing ‘ _Part of Your World_ ’ once more. – A request Sansa obliged.

 

 

She was half way through the song, singing:

“ _Up where they walk, up where they run_

_Up where they stay all day in the sun_

_Wanderin' free - wish I could be...”-_

-When suddenly she noticed a small figure move out of the corner of her eye. Her breath hitched in her throat as she took in the new young boy, his mouth gaping, eyes focused on her. At his reverent stare, Sansa felt her cheeks turn a dark shade as she gave him a soft smile.

Of course, with her abrupt stop, others noticed the new addition, before Renly exclaimed, looking past the boy: “Stannis!” and running towards the door.

At the call, Sansa felt her heart stop, as her eyes sought the intended recipient.  Her head buzzing, her heart still frantic, -her throat drying up, she observed the man in the doorway. He looked fierce and intense, especially with stubble covering his jaw and his hair glistening with rainwater. The rugged look was such a contrast to the dark, well made clothes, that for a foolish second, Sansa couldn’t help but think he was Prince Eric who had come out of the story, after battling Ursula... but no this was not Prince Eric... the dark stormy blues eyes piercing into her only confirmed it further.

 

_He_ was back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- Although it is never stated in the books, I am going by the assumption that, like Winterfell, the castellan of Storm’s End (Ser Cortnay Penrose) is also the Master at Arms of the castle.
> 
> **- _Sirius Black_ , Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire


	15. PART I, Chapter 14 – A place to call one’s Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to do a weekly update, (at least at the mmt) however since I am not here this weekend decided to upload this Chapter today instead of Monday. - Hope you like :)  
> (Next chapter should be next sat or sun: 8 or 9th of Oct)
> 
> A big thank you again to Sarah_Black for Beta-reading this chapter. She is ever so helpful (and her own Stansa stories are great! ;P )

 

 

Not once, but several times in the span of his first morning back, Stannis wondered in growing frustration if he had accidentally returned to another man’s castle. It was now getting to the point that he was sorely tempted to ask someone if he was still the Lord of Storm's End?

 

This strangeness and growing irritation had actually started the previous evening. Neither his brother, his ‘ _daughter_ ’, nor his wards had come to greet him, Lady Tully having seized their attention for herself. That and the fact that she had completely altered one of the rooms of his castle without seeking his approval first (- it did not matter that he didn’t actually remember what the room had been previously used for -) and had arranged it in such a strange way that Stannis had trouble understanding how this ‘ _solar’_ would be at all practical.

But it had continued from there. Later that same evening, he and his men had been requested to wash their hands before being served ‘ _pasta’_ that had been mixed with pieces of fried pork and a creamy white sauce that Stannis was certain he had never tasted before. The strange dish had been accompanied by a ‘ _cookie’_ with oats and raisins in it. The oddity had only persisted when Renly, upon wishing Stannis a good evening, had informed him to make sure to ‘ _brush his teeth_ ’ before going to bed, to which Eddard had proceeded to explain to him exactly what that meant. And again this morning, upon breaking his fast in his solar, in addition to his usual broth, Stannis had been given a ‘ _croissant_ ’.

 

On the other hand, aside from these strange new routines and odd dishes, it seemed that Lady Tully was settling in quite well. Upon further consideration - and as Septa Baela had justly pointed out - it only proved that Lady Tully was preparing, to a certain level, for her future role as his lady wife. In any case, the ‘ _spaghetti carbonara’_ and the cookie had tasted good, warming and filling him up after the long, cold ride through the rain, as well the pastry this morning. Stannis could certainly not rebuke the lady for wanting to make things more efficient, see to the health of the people in her care, and actually performing some of her duties as lady of the castle. Lysa had definitely not been as innovative or interested in improving the castle for the better.

– _If only Lady Tully would do_ all _her duties_.

_However_...

His scowl deepened as he continued to remember the previous evening. Stannis was still very unsure what to think of the story Lady Tully had told the children. He had to admit that she was adept at storytelling and her singing voice was... _pleasant_. But the mentions of _love_ , _lost love_ , a father allowing his daughter to marry who she truly wanted... these along with the several connections found between this ‘ _Little Mermaid_ ’ story and Lady Tully did not bode well in his mind; - _No, not at all_. There was of course the obvious link between the Tully’s sigil, the trout – a _fish_ – and the fact that the heroine was half- _fish_. Then the fact that Princess Ariel’s father was a widower, who had been deeply in love with his wife, just like Lord Tully.

Cressen had assured Stannis that Lady Tully was still a maiden. Had the lady’s honour and duty stopped her from doing what ‘ _Princess Ariel_ ’ had done and run off with a man to follow her heart? Did she still secretly pine for her own ‘ _Prince Eric_ ’? - The fact that this prince was from ‘ _another world_ ’ was not lost on Stannis either. If there was such a man, clearly he was not a lord from a lower house that was not high-ranking and prominent enough for the daughter of the lord of a Great House. More likely, he was a _commoner_. From a very separate world from her own; - one Lady Tully knew her father would never let her attach herself to.

Stannis had also noticed the look of melancholy she had given Robert’s bastard when the young boy had insisted that the two lovers should be together, as well as her response of lost love: “ _But isn’t it better to have loved and lost rather than to never have loved at all... to at least have known the feeling once and remember, than be forever ignorant_?”

Was that the true reason she wanted to take her vows of chastity? If she could not be with the man she loved, she did not want to be with any man? Only be surrounded by memories of her youthful infatuation to some young buck? – Although the idea of slightly better than having run off and eloped with the young man, clearly the lady was foolish. Stannis was more than certain that her ‘ _beloved’_ was most likely finding his next lady to ‘ _love’_ whilst Lady Tully was here pining for him.

To further prove his thoughts, as pleasing as Lady Tully’s voice might possibly be, Stannis couldn’t help but think the song she had sang was an ode of sorts to this lost love she had been separated from; with whom she could ‘ _walk’, ‘run’, ‘play all day in the sun’_ with... Clearly the lady was ignorant of some of the realities commoners faced.

 

There was also Lady Tully’s strange attachment to Robert’s bastard that Stannis was very much confused about. He had assumed that Lady Sansa would treat the boy with the same contempt Lysa had given him.

However, with the scene presented to him last night, and according to Septa Baela, since finding out about the existence of the boy, Lady Tully had insisted Edric Storm be moved to a better chamber, one close to her own and closer to his ‘ _cousin_ ’ and uncle. The older woman had gone on to say how attentive Lady Tully had been to the boy during his recuperation, and how she would always have Robert’s bastard join, when she read to Shireen, Edmure and the wards.

After discussing the matter with Eddard, he had only become more baffled. According to Eddard, Lady Tully didn’t care that the boy was a bastard (– and had even specifically warned everyone in the keep not to call the boy such –) and even less about the story of his conception. This made Stannis wonder if her lack of concern regarding the matter was meant to be some sort of slight.

The lady was the complete opposite to her older sister. He still remembered clearly how Lysa had raged about the boy, refusing to say his name, and shunning him completely. She had even adamantly refused to allow him anywhere near _her_ daughter - her ‘ _trueborn’_ daughter. His scowl twitched as his thoughts darkened his mood further. A year older than Shireen, sometimes it was hard for Stannis to remember that the boy wasn’t _his_ but a bastard from his brother’s seed; – unlike his _‘daughter’_ , the boy had all the Baratheon features. Where Shireen might not actually be trueborn or a Baratheon, at least the young boy, Edric, had Baratheon blood in him... Therein lay the other key difference between the sisters: Lady Tully had not succumbed to temptation with her ‘Prince Eric’, whereas Lysa _had_...

Nevertheless, the most maddening thing of all was that it was still plainly obvious from all his different discussions, that Lady Tully was still very much reluctant to become the next Lady of Storm's End – or more specifically _his_ lady.

This was his keep, his castle, these were his lands, and it was his will that she be his bride. Why could the lady not just accept that, disabuse herself of romantic notions, bend to his dictate and _do her duty?_

– _By the Seven,_ _she is infuriating_!

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa had been _summoned_.

 _Really!_ The guy wanted her to become his _wife_ , and instead of sending her flowers and possibly a card or poem, or even better yet coming himself and try to woo her, the best Lord Big and Muscly had come up with was send his squire to inform her, her presence had been requested and that she was to come to the man’s solar.

 _And who said romance was dead_? – Gods, the man would probably kill any possible thought of love between two people with just his scowl.

As she moved towards his solar she remembered the previous evening; - _Gods she had been foolish_. So caught in his surprised appearance she had become a shy ninny, standing back nervously whilst watching Renly, the wards and others greet their lord. She had even actually compared him to Prince Eric! - She had acted like such a silly twit. Just like with Joff, she just stood back and admired a pretty face; although in Lord Baratheon’s case it wasn't really ‘ _pretty face_ ’, but more a ‘ _rugged manly_ ’ one.

And when he had turned his attention on her, his piercing blue eyes seeming to see right through her, Sansa could have sworn she had blushed, that she had stammered that the story was “ _just a child’s tale to keep them occupied during the storm_ ”, and had spoken as if she were a child caught doing something naughty.

Even through the evening meal, she had stayed silent and only listened in as Renly asked Lord Baratheon about his journey, whilst the other wards and Edmure welcomed the young boy, Bryce Caron, to the castle.

With sadness and further frustration, she also remembered how Shireen and Edric had also been shy upon Lord Baratheon’s appearance. Even when Sansa and Shireen had stood and gone to greet him, following the others preceding them, Sansa had noticed how shy and nervous the three year old girl seemed as she greeted her father. It was heartbreaking that such a sweet girl was anxious about greeting her own father; - this was not _normal_ , no matter what Ser Eddard had said about his friend. As for Edric, he had stayed back, even more worried and unsure than Sansa and Shireen. Clearly the boy was rightly nervous about what would become of him now that Lord Baratheon was back.

 

A couple of steps from Lord Big and Muscly’s solar, she momentarily stopped, and closed her eyes, willing her rising anger to stop. It would not do for her to begin their conversation already feeling angry. As arrogant and ‘ _lord-of-this-castle’_ as he was, Sansa was a clear-headed, rational human being, and she _would not_ let him get to her. In any case, this was the perfect opportunity to ask Lord Big and Muscly if she could go visit the old heart tree, so she needed him to be in the best mood possible (- or, at the very least, the least irritable).

Hands gripped to her sides, she took a hesitant step and a deep breath...

Another more certain step, another deep breath...

With a final breath, resolved and ready, she knocked on the door, all the while reminding herself to ‘ _play nice_ ’. Provoking the man to scowl at her would not resolve anything.

As soon as she knocked, she recognised the man’s deep voice calling from inside. She took one finally breath, put on her most pleasant and demure smile, and entered.

 

“Lady Tully.”

At least the man stood from his chair and greeted her more or less appropriately. With a slightly stiff – and possibly shaky – curtsy, she replied, her smile still in place: “Lord Baratheon. Good Morning. I hope you had a good night’s rest after all your weary travels, as well as a pleasant morning?”

Although, going by the grimace on his face, she was already guessing the answer would be a big fat ‘ _Nooooo’_ to both inquiries.

“Whether I am well rested is inconsequential to this conversation, or why I called you to my solar, Lady Tully. As for my morning, well my lady, since you have asked, I will be blunt: my morning was disappointing to say the least.”

“Oh? I am sorry to hear this, Lord Baratheon.”

He gave an unconvinced huff as he retorted: “Are you truly?”

“Of course. I would not wish for anyone to have a disappointing morning on such a fine day, with the weather having cleared so well after yesterday’s storm.”

Unfortunately, the scowl deepened: “Lady Tully, I do not care for the weather, nor do I wish to discuss it. What I would like to discuss, is the fact that you have yet to accept your duty to marry.”

Her smile tightened, “Well, I have yet to be _courted_ by my _intended_. How else am I to change my mind and accept his proposal? And I’d like to add that my intended has yet to _ask_ me.”

This reply earned Sansa a glare. However, before Lord ‘ _Already-starting-to-really-get-on-her-nerves’_ could snap a possible remark, Sansa quickly added:

“I, however, _have_ spoken to both Ser Cortnay Penrose and Ser Eddard about a tour of the surroundings lands. I also expressed my desire to return to the old heart tree where you and your men found me, as I believe it will help me remember more about what happened to me. Perhaps we could take a ride, Lord Baratheon, and at the same time you can attempt to court me?... Or at least tell me why you believe we should marry; why it would be better than me taking my vows?”

To Sansa’s dismay however, the scowl only deepened, and there was definitely a note of iron in his voice as Lord Big and Muscly spoke through clenched teeth.

“Lady Tully, I will tell you, right _here_ , right _now_ , why we should marry: because it is our _duty_. There. _Done_. There is no need for absurd ideas of courtship along the countryside. In fact there will be no horse-riding around the lands, no revisiting any part of the forest until you do your _duty_ , and we _marry_! _That_ is more important than thinking about some bloody tree! - Being lord of these lands, _my_ priority is my _duty_ to my keep, my people. _Yours_ are your duties to your family, to your father and very soon to _me_.”

A flare of anger and grief mixed together ran through Sansa. She was tempted to yell back that, to her, there was _nothing_ more important than going to that ‘ _bloody tree’_ and getting back to the _future_ and _her_ family! Thankfully, just as quickly, she was able to hold her tongue, before lashing out at the bonehead in front of her. - _Anger will not resolve anything, Sansa..._ \- Keeping her temper in check, Sansa pursed her lips:

“Lord Baratheon, has my father arrived at this castle?”

His glare was boring into her as he replied: “No, as you well know, he has not.”

Taking a shot in the dark, Sansa then asked: “Has he _written_?”

The glare intensified: “No. No missive was received from Lord Tully whilst I was away.”

With a tight smile, Sansa claimed victory: “Well then, until that time you can be sure there will be _no wedding_. As you have justly pointed out Lord Baratheon, at this moment in time, my duty is to _my family_ and _my father_. Until such time as he specifically orders me into a sept and down the aisle, I will not marry.” – _Which is not bloody likely, since the man doesn’t even know I exist_!

However, it seemed Lord ‘ _Duty-duty-duty_ ’ was not ready to back down, and instead rose to his full height, leaned over his desk, with his hands poised on the wooden surface, to meet her head on: “I am sure Lord Tully would be just as pleased learning of the news of a possible grandchild as he would be by a wedding.”

Not cowering away, Sansa quirked an eyebrow, as she crossed her arms and glared right back at him: “Are you presuming you know my father’s mind and thoughts? - How _fortuitous_ of you, Lord Baratheon, in your ability to read his mind and find that he agrees with you.”

“No, I am not _presuming_ anything, Lady Tully.” There was definitely a growl in the man’s voice now. “I am merely going on the fact that your father wrote to me not a week before _your arrival_ stating, and I quote: ‘ ** _It is my hope that there will be another strong stag within the year.’_** Now, if this message and your arrival at my castle are two matters that do not correlate, I am _all ears_ as to what exactly your father intended!”

Sansa blinked. There was a moment of silence where she could only stare back at the irritating man, definitely not wanting to back down, but unfortunately not knowing how to proceed.

Then, finally – _thankfully_ – she recalled her earlier thoughts. Jaw slightly clenched, eyes boring into his own, she challenged him: “Lord Baratheon, you keep on going on about _my duties_ ; what about your own?”

It was his turn to blink, but the surprise on his face only lasted a second, so quick Sansa wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been staring at him so intently. And then his iron glare returned. His voice was edged with a dangerous coolness when next he spoke:

“Do enlighten me, Lady Tully: which of my duties have been remised?”

“How about your duties to your _own child?_ You barely talk to or visit Shireen! She has just lost her mother, and feels like she has no parents at all! She asks after you every day! On the same note: Edric Storm – the boy was in a closet, _For All the Gods Sake_! He is your nephew! Even Renly - and all the other wards – crave more of your attention. Renly wants to learn more from his older brother!”

Lord Baratheon studied her in silence, iron flecks shining in his stormy blue eyes. Then, with a courtesy so icy it could freeze her ears off*, he spoke:

“Lady Tully, _who_ is lord of this castle?”

“You and I both know, that you are, Lord Baratheon.”

“And yet, you question how _I_ handle _my_ keep, _my_ own family?”

“Shireen is my family as well: she is my niece. Even Edric is my family as well: was it not _my cousin_ that _your brother_ seduced? Moreover, my brother, my father’s _heir_ , is one of your wards; so yes, I think I am entitled to know _exactly_ how you treat _my_ family. And if you really want to delve into it: if we marry this will be _my_ castle as well. Additionally, if you really want to convince me to me your wife, seeing the way you treat your existing heir as well as the other children; I can say you are currently doing poor work of persuading me to give you _more_ children.”

The flecks of iron in his eyes seemed about to glow red, as he clenched his jaw so tight Sansa thought his teeth were about to shatter:

“When we marry, my lady - and I assure you that we _will_ , very soon - you, like everything else in this castle, will be _mine_. You will go from being your father’s to being _my_ wife, _my_ subject, _my_ property. As your lord husband, you will be at _my discretion_ to do with as I will.”

Anger boiling out of her control, Sansa no longer tried to hold it all in, and spat out: “Well that is just _GREAT_! Lord Baratheon, I must say, you are to be _commended_ when it comes to your way with words! Such a _great_ way to convince a lady to marry you! – Oh, I _dare_ you to carry out your threat! You will see you are not the only one who has ‘ _Fury_ ’ in your blood if you try!”

And with that, she whirled round, turning her back to him and stormed out before he could make her another pompous, preposterous threat!

 

**. . .**

 

_That BLASTED WILLFUL WOMAN!_

 

At the slam of the door, Stannis let out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, as he unclenched his jaw. How easily she got a rise out of him! It seemed like every conversation they had, that woman wanted to make him lose his temper and his very sanity! And then she would just storm out! – Even Lysa had not been that volatile during their marriage.

Thankfully, the air that had come into the room when the door had slammed, helping clear his head slightly and dissipate some of his fury. However, still feeling the anger within him, Stannis knew he should not go after her. He was not actually sure what he would do if he did chase her down.

After taking a few more long breaths, Stannis let out another groan, as he sunk back into his chair, hands running through his hair.

 _By the Seven, she pushed me_!

She had pressed him so much so, talking about Shireen, and even about Edric and Renly, that his temper had gotten the better of him! He hadn’t actually meant to threaten her. – Yes, she would be _his_ wife, but he had never forced his will on any of his subjects. Not _really_. Could she not realise the life he was offering her by becoming his wife? He was a _dutiful_ , _reasonable_ , _rational_ lord. The Stormlands were strong, full of well-trained men, and they had plenty in crops and metals. That had not happened on its own; _he_ had kept his lands strong for the past decade!

How could she not understand that he needed an heir, an alliance with a strong House, and prosperity for his lands and people? Duty, honour and seeing to his legacy was of the utmost importance!

She should be grateful that, at least, she wasn’t going to be married to Lord Stark’s heir! – From what Stannis had heard as well as what Eddard told him, the northerner was nearly as bad as Robert, both in terms of doing his duty as well as breeding bastards!

As for the other great Houses, Lord Lannister was more than twice Stannis’ age, and was barely human; the Rains of Castamere were proof enough of that. As for the _Great Lion_ ’s second son, and now heir, rumours were that he would never let the Imp be Lord of Casterly Rock... In any case, would Lady Tully really prefer to marry an _imp_ rather than him?... Have _Tywin Lannister_ as her father in law?

Lord Arryn already had his heir through his nephew, who had recently married some... girl. The Martell Prince was already married and had his heir: a princess, as was the Dornish custom, as well as one or two sons, all under the age of ten. In the Reach, Lord Tyrell was a fool if Stannis ever saw one, as for his son... he was definitely _too_ young for Lady Tully – _yes, barely four-and-ten if memory served_ – clearly far _too_ young for someone as passionate and temperamental as his fiery lady. The young heir would have been walked over and eaten up before his next breath.

The only other male possibilities worthy of her hand would be either the king, but he already had his heir, as well as a couple of grandsons. Or there was His Grace’s second son. Yet here again, Prince Viserys was far too young for Lady Tully, even younger than the Tyrell boy. In any case, rumour was that King Aerys planned to have his youngest two marry each other.

 

Stannis was still brooding over his wretched betrothed, when a knock came at the door.

Looking up, for the briefest of moments, Stannis couldn’t help but believe it was Lady Tully who had returned and about to tell him that she had been thoughtless and he was right (- _of, course I am right_!- ) and they should marry as soon as possible. But just as quickly, Stannis realised how utterly foolish that thought was, no matter how much he wished it.

So, frustration mixed with disappointment and irritation, he called for whomever it was to enter. Thankfully it was Eddard. With any luck, his friend could give Stannis insight about how to make Lady Tully become his wife!

 

Walking into the room, the northerner, looked from Stannis to the door he was currently shutting and back again, before speaking.

“I just passed Lady Tully on her way back to her chambers. She seemed... slightly out of sorts. So much so that she didn’t even notice my presence. Should I even ask how your conversation went?”

Lips pressed tight, Stannis gave a huff: “Lady Tully was, as per usual, being unreasonable and stubborn. She seems to be intent in acting in complete opposition to her family words: ‘ _Family, Duty, Honour’._ She obviously stayed away from Riverrun and her father’s control and guidance for too long.”

Moving closer to Stannis’ desk and taking his usual seat, Eddard gave Stannis a solemn look.

“You can hardly blame her for not being under her father’s influence; it was not by choice. And even under Lord Hoster Tully’s direction, Lady Lysa turned out... less than ideal. At least her sister isn’t trying to murder you – not yet, anyway”, the end comment accompanied by a slight twitch of the lip.

“Very amusing,” Stannis said, in a tone that suggested he found his friend anything but, “I did not invite you in here to make tasteless japes, Eddard.”

Eddard’s eyes meeting Stannis’, he sighed: “It wasn’t entirely a jape, Stannis. In any case: how exactly is Lady Tully not honouring her family words, according to you?”

The frame of the question earned Eddard another glare, but Stannis still replied: “She is still unwilling to do her _duty_ and marry _me_. - _You_ spent some time with the lady during my absence: what did you discuss with her if you were not trying to convince her of our union? Septa Baela and you, as well as the rest of this keep all failed to convince her to accept her fate!”

“Some would say that the task should primarily be yours to undertake, Stannis.” Noticing Stannis’ darkened scowl, Eddard then quickly added, “However, as proven just now, and even before your journey, you might not have the right temperament and you might not be employing the best tactics for such an endeavour.”

Stannis was definitely glaring at his useless friend now, not even dignifying the comment with a response. Unfortunately, Eddard seemed to be unfazed by the hard glare boring into him (- clearly Stannis had spent too much time around the man). Instead, Eddard added: “Thankfully for you - and for the safety and sanity of everyone in this keep - I have come to your aid. So, tell me exactly what you discussed, sparing no detail?”

Stannis wanted to retort that he didn’t need Eddard’s help; he only needed Lady Tully to relinquish all her foolish ideas, but decided to hold his tongue. Instead, with another grumble – making it clear to his friend what exactly he thought of the whole situation - Stannis gave his account of the conversation with the lady.

 

During the recounting, frustratingly often during the retelling, Eddard gave small huffs or scoffs, but it wasn’t until Stannis was done that his friend ultimately voiced his thoughts.

With a long sigh – way too dramatic and theatrical, for Stannis’ liking – Eddard straightened himself in his seat, and looked at Stannis as if ready to explain something to a callow youth.

“Stannis, there are many ways to a woman’s heart. However, I can assure you that _none_ involve reminding her that she will be your property once you marry.”

Stannis couldn’t help but scoff: “It is not her ‘ _heart’_ I am interested in, it’s the heirs she will provide me with.”

His friend shifted in his seat awkwardly, and chastised Stannis further: “You should probably not be so blunt and obvious about that either. Reminding a lady the only real use you have for her is her ability to provide you with children is not a great tactic either. – A woman doesn’t want to be measured by the number of sons she can provide.”

Ever frustrated, Stannis defended his stance: “But it’s the truth! I am only being honest; not giving the lady false expectations!”

Eddard huffed in despair: “I am not saying you should mislead the lady Stannis. I am only pointing out that certain truths should not be voiced so loudly! If at all! – Everyone knows of these truths, but no one is so blunt about them!”

“So what should I tell her instead?!”

Eddard’s response was automatic: “Find something you find pleasing about her and compliment her on it.”

Stannis could not help but scoff at his friend’s suggestion, before grunting: “Like what?”

This earned him a glare: “Maybe you should find _that_ out for yourself.”

“You said you would help me!”

Hands running through his hair, Eddard let out a strange-sounding (– not too different from a wounded animal -) prolonged groan, before huffing to Stannis: “You could mention...” he paused and gave a sigh. “You could mention how you appreciate her caring nature, her sense of integrity, her honesty, her piety, her proficiency when it comes to sewing, cooking, taking care of and improving the keep, her knowledge of remedies, her ability to read and write in several languages, her ease with sums and numbers, her love and care for children, her love for animals, especially her love of dogs, her entertaining in story-telling, her enchanting voice, her beauty inside and outside, the fact that she is not a simpleton, nor weak in body or spirit...”

Stannis blinked. As his friend had enumerated several parts to Lady Tully’s character, he had to acknowledge that these all seemed to be true... or, at least, for the ones he had witnessed for himself. Even last evening, he had found her voice ‘ _enchanting_ ’ as well as her storytelling captivating. Moreover, even if he had not cared much for the washing of his hands or the brushing of his teeth, Stannis had to acknowledge that these activities were meant to be beneficial to his health... and the recent dishes had been satisfying...

The silence continued as Stannis looked over at his friend and wondered how Eddard had picked up on so many praiseworthy aspects of the lady, whereas Stannis, who was usually just as observant, had not... -

\- However before he could give the conundrum more thought, there was another knock at the door, this time more frantic.

Letting out a grunt of annoyance, Stannis called for the knocker to _enter_. An apprehensive looking Ser Cortnay entered, followed by Septa Baela and the maid Stannis recognised to being Lady Tully’s lady-in-waiting, both women looking rather pale and anxious.

His castellan spoke: “Lord Baratheon, Lady Tully is missing, none can find her.”

Stannis did not control his temper in the slightest, as he leapt from his chair: “ _WHAT?!_?”

\- _By the Seven Gods_! No matter what Eddard had said about how ‘ _pleasing’_ Lady Tully was, Stannis could do without her constant defiance and wilfulness! He was going to tie that woman to a chair until she was brought down the aisle!

 

**. . .**

 

_“Lord Baratheon, could I please go for a walk and stretch my legs, I have the continual feeling that your castle is a very large prison keeping me locked in?” – “No, you must do your duty and marry me, a complete stranger to you!”_

_“Lord Baratheon, could I please go and visit the old heart tree and hopefully get back to the future, so I can get as far from your pompous, arrogant presence as possible?” – “No, you must do your duty and give me loads of sons, even though you are barely eighteen and have loads of years to still have babies in, and I don’t even care for my own daughter!”_

_“Lord Baratheon, am I allowed to breathe?” – “No, you must do your duty! No breathing no sleeping... just duty, duty, duty!”_

_“Lord Baratheon, could you please stop being such a self-entitled donkey-brain?” – “No! Do your DUTY!”_

 

 _Arggghhhh_ – _That man! Seriously_! _How can someone be such a stubborn, hard-headed mule?_!

 

He had not even been back a full day and Sansa was already sick of Lord Big and Muscly! The man was just too much of a boorish, obstinate, arrogant jerk! It was obvious that he would never convince another woman to marry him, especially not her! Clearly Mary had been right about Lysa being a little bit nuts, because the woman had agreed marry him in the first place!

 _Arggh_! - And he had dared threaten her! Say she would be _his property_! His to _use at his discretion_! – _Oh yes,_ great _way to convince me to marry you, Lord Bonehead_!

 

Well, at least the man was being upfront about how he saw any possible relationship between them going, unlike Joffrey who had played her like a violin with all his sweet words and flowery promises!

Still, she let out probably her hundredth groan in over an hour.

Fuming since she had left Lord _Bossy-Pants_ , Sansa had gone to her chambers and had swiftly changed into her simplest gown and put on her heavy travel cloak. Despite her anger, she had also been clear headed enough to think to also bring her father’s gun as well as her pepper-spray.

Thankfully, however, neither defence had so far been necessary. Nor had anyone taken any true notice of her, as her face, hair and clothes were hidden under the cloak and hood.

 

Willing herself to forget about Lord Big and Muscly and her many frustrations with the man, Sansa looked at the tree in front of her. Only a few more steps and she would reach it. Seeing it, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would finally be able to go _home_ ; chills climbed the middle of her back, over her scar and spread across her body. The hairs on her arms stood on end, as she took her final steps...

And then she was standing right in front of it.

Encumbered by her dress, she bunched the cloth up with a fist, and crouched in the exact location she remembered waking up in.

With slow breaths she studied the tree...

... Before carefully placing her hand on which she was wearing her father’s ring on it...

... she waited a second... and another...

 _Nothing happened_.

 

Not willing to give up, Sansa let out a shaky huff as she searched her brain for another idea.

 

 _Of course_...

She took the ring from her finger and pricked herself, letting a few drops fall onto the golden band, before sliding it back on.

With a long hopeful - but also slightly worrying sigh she pressed her hand once more, as well as most of her body with it, against the tree...

...

... _Nothing happened_.

 

Even closing her eyes, only thinking of home, thinking of Grand Pa Ben in his favourite chair, of Uncle Creg grumbling about Arya’s wildness, of Stann and Jeyne with little Rickon, of Jon laughing, running through the trees surrounding Winterfell, of Arya with her short dark hair and punk look scoffing at Sansa for being so proper and lady like... she even thought of her father... of her mother, how she liked to remember them, not bleeding out... not ailing and lost to the world...

She could feel the tears slowly falling down her face, sorrow invading her...

... But still, _nothing happened_.

By now she was truly crying in despair... Fists pounding against the hard bark, the tree cutting her knuckles... but still she pounded, her eyes closed, sobs escaping her until her head fell against the tree, _frustrated_... _exhausted_... Exhaustion not only from these last moments, or the trek from Storm's End, but from the last days, the last weeks trapped in this new place ...this new place she was stuck in...

 

\- And then, when she thought all was lost, all had been for nothing, that she was be doomed to stay in this infernal past, Sansa suddenly felt a heart-retching shiver run through her!

 

A jolt ran through her scar, promoting a cry of pain out of her!

 

And then...

... Then, eyes blinded, she saw memories that weren’t her own: as if images of another’s life or from a film had been forced into her mind:

... _A dragon flew over a cluster of houses and towers... A man dark of hair put a black and red cloak on a silver-haired woman, the two kissed in front of a large cheering crowd... A man surrounded by white crawled to a large tree, whose leaves seemed to burn red... A knight charged towards another also holding a lance, only to be thrown on the ground as his opponent, with a shield painted with a white tree, still sat on his horse... a white man with hollow cheeks and dead piercing ice blue eyes rode on a decomposing horse... a red-haired woman raged as she read a piece of paper... a castle at the very top of a large rock stood strong as the port bellow burned... a red comet flew through the clear blue skies... a man with long silver hair, long nails yelled to an near empty room, as a sword was trust through him by a man with golden hair... A man played the harp, telling a woman ‘one more was needed’... an ocean burned green... a red-haired girl kissed a scrawny, brown-haired boy... dragons surrounded a large castle, as they watched it burn, cries could be heard from within... An overly large man grabbed a woman and threw her on the ground, before tearing her dress right down the middle... a woman lay dying in a bed of blood and petals... three large eggs shown in firelight... a blue rose opened as a glimmer of light shone on it_...

 

... The visions continued but they were too much... it was all _too_ _much_...

... As if caught by a tidal wave, Sansa felt herself go under... the visions and everything else going dark...

 

...and then there was _nothing_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Inspired by the lines in a Storm of Swords, in a Jaime POV Chapter: ‘ _Lord Tywin studied his son in silence, gold flecks shining in his pale green eyes._ ’ / ‘ _Lord Tywin said with a courtesy so cold it was like to freeze their ears off_.’


	16. PART I, Chapter 15 – Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... so many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrghhhh - my weeks/weekends are getting more and more busy, so I am uploading this new chapter today.  
> Really hope you all like ;)
> 
> A BIG Thank You! again to Sarah_Black for Beta reading :D
> 
> (Next chapter will be sometime next week)

 

... _A dragon flew over a city... A man surrounded by snow, leaned heavily on the pommel of his sword as he limped to a large tree, its leaves shinning bright red... A giant man grabbed a beautiful but terrified dark haired woman and threw her on the ground, before tearing her dress down the middle... A red-haired girl and a skinny, brown-haired boy kissed next to a river... A crimson-red comet flew across the clear blue skies... A zombie-like man sat on a just as dead looking horse... There was an explosion, destroying everything in its wake, before a large pool of water burned emerald-green... A red-haired woman was in a fit of anger as she read and then tore a piece of paper... A blue rose went into full bloom, glowing in the first rays of the morning sun_...

...

 

There was the echo of rustling... of trickling of water... of soft padded feet against stone...

She let out a small, raspy breath...

... and then barely a second later, Sansa felt what seemed to be the King of All Headaches attack her skull, encouraging a painful moan... only to then find her throat really dry. Taking the smallest gulps of air, she tried to clear it. The task proving mostly futile, Sansa tried to concentrate on other parts of her body. All her muscles seemed stiff, her hands and knuckles were throbbing, and there was a tingling in her knees and feet as if she had walked for days...

After some shifting and several sluggish movements, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking ever so slowly to get used to the dimmed light, trying to get a clear image of her surroundings.

However, before she could properly identify her surroundings, she felt a damp cloth being placed on her forehead, cooling her brow, as a soft wisp-like voice spoke:

“There, there. Take your time... no need to overexert yourself...”

Following the guidance of the voice, her mind and body seemed to sink further into the warm soft mattress and blankets fully covering her... that was until the headache came back with a vengeance, inciting another groan from her lips.

After what seemed like several hours – but most likely only minutes - Sansa was finally able to open her eyes fully. Her vision having cleared, she looked around her, to find an old man in a grey cloak staring back at her – _Maester Cressen_.

 _Gods_...

It all came flooding back: the arrival in the past, her last couple of weeks in Storm's End, trying to find a way home, her argument with Lord Big and Muscly, going to the tree, the visions...

... not being sent back to the future.

She was still in the Dragon Age. And by the looks of it she was back in Storm's End, back in her rooms.

A whole new wave of pain and despair washed over her. There were no more ideas. The tree had been her final hope, the last possible solution she could think of how to get back to the future. She was most likely trapped here forever. The sorrow of not seeing her family again, of never returning home consumed her further as she realised that she was truly stuck, truly alone.

 

As these thoughts continued to plague her, Sansa felt a shiver run through her, her body most likely finally feeling the coolness of her room. Pulling covers ever closer to her body, she became conscious of her surroundings once more and realised the maester’s eyes were still on her. Sansa shifted, sitting up in her bed, trying to hide her inner torment.

Her throat dry, she whispered: “What... what time is it?”

Before replying, Cressen passed her a cup of water, for which she automatically thanked him.

“Just past dawn, my lady. You have been asleep since midday yesterday.”

Emptying the cup, she returned it to him silently, as Sansa tried to remember how she got back to the castle.

“How are you feeling, my lady?”

Sansa gave another soft cough, before returning his smile with a weak one of her own: “Better.”

He nodded in agreement: “Your face seems to have regained some colour.”

Not knowing what to say or ask, as well as the headache still looming, Sansa thought it best to let the maester lead any possible conversation. Fortunately, possibly due to her silence, he informed her that Lord Big and Muscly and some of his men had been forced to go look for her, and then finding her under the old heart tree, “... many thought the worse, my lady; they believed they had arrived too late. – Lady Shireen and little Edric were greatly upset. As for Lord Edmure, he refused to leave your chambers. I believe he feel quite protective of you, and responsible for your wellbeing as Lord Tully is not present.”

At the added comment, in addition to the pang of guilt running through her, this was when Sansa noticed a slumped form, red hair poking out from the top of the heavy blanket in one of the large armchairs, as Cressen gave further explanation, also looking at the boy: “He fell asleep a couple of hours ago, the excitements of the day having finally taken their toll.”

Sansa couldn’t help but give another weak smile, imagining Edmure stubbornly insisting on watching over her. With it, however, she couldn’t help but also think of what would have happened if she had succeeded, if she _had_ returned to the future. As much as Sansa wanted to return to her cousins, her aunt and uncle, her grandparents, she couldn’t deny the thought of never seeing Shireen, Edmure, Edric and even Mary and Beth again would have elicited grief and regret in her as well. They were also part of her family now, also in her heart.

It seemed no matter what, she could never win.

_By the Gods, why does everything always have to be so complicated and painful?_

 

All too soon, as if feeling her gaze on him, Edmure moved and stretched. His Tully blue blinked open, before seeking her. Although Edmure’s overly excited voice – far _too_ excited for someone just waking up - attacked all her still-very-much-recovering senses, Sansa was grateful for the interruption from her thoughts.

“ _Sansa_! Sansa, you are awake!! You are all right! I knew you would be! Edric was convinced that... b-but I knew that you would be fine!”

Moving energetically from the chair to the side of the bed – nearly knocking Maester Cressen over in the process – Edmure stared directly at her, as if checking more thoroughly for himself that she was indeed awake and well. Seemingly satisfied, his face turned mournful.

“Sansa... why did you want to leave? Why did you leave me, and Shireen and Edric?”

His big ‘puppy’ eyes were in full effect, piercing through Sansa’s heart. Not wanting the boy to look so forlorn, she quickly tried to calm his fears:

“No... no... I didn’t want to leave you... or the others... I...”

Throat suddenly very dry once more, she let out a series of small coughs, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. – _By the Seven, how can I tell him that I had only wanted to find a way home_? _A way back to my own time_?

 

Yet, before she had a chance to say anymore, another cup of water was presented to her. As she took a large sip, she noticed that Maester Cressen’s full attention was now on the boy, speaking to Edmure in his calm voice.

“Lord Edmure, I know you have many questions for your sister; however she is still weak and needs rest. Why do you not go and inform Lord Baratheon that Lady Tully has awoken. None should be informed before him.”

Her ‘ _brother’_ nodded quickly in acceptance to his mission, before giving Sansa a quick peck on the cheek and whispering for her not to leave him again. Satisfied by her own kiss on his cheek and her small smile, he stood back up. However, before Edmure could charge towards the door and into the corridor, Maester Cressen spoke a few last words to him, too soft for Sansa to properly hear.

 

Once the boy was gone and the door closed, the old man turned his attention back to Sansa. Walking slowly back to the bed, he looked straight at her and gave her a thin smile:

“My lady, I think now would be a good time for you to tell me exactly who you are.”

There was a slight hitch to her breathing that had Sansa wondering if her mind and body were still buzzing from all the recent stress and exhaustion. Shifting awkwardly, Sansa briefly looked at her hands, lying on the covers: “I am not certain of your meaning, Maester Cressen.”

“Truly, my lady? If I were to inform you that Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Hoster Tully’s brother, was on his way to Storm's End at this very moment in time, and that he is accompanied by a royal envoy, all arriving in two to three days time, depending on the weather and the state of the roads, you would only be pleased?...”

Sansa blinked, her mind going blank.

“... Even though, in the missive received yesterday, there was no mention of you? What is all the more puzzling to me, my lady, is that it was more than clear that Lord Tully has planned for his youngest daughter Lady _Catelyn_ Tully to marry Lord Baratheon...”

Her heart seemed to have started beating again, although, this time, as if trying to get out of her chest, banging against her ribs.

“... And, of course there is also the matter of these...”

Her widened eyes frantically followed as the old maester pulled out several items from his cloak. Upon a proper glance Sansa realised he was holding her pepper-spray in one hand and her father’s gun in the other.

 

There was a beat...

... and then another...

... and then, clearly having lost all of her senses, Sansa let out a nervous laugh: “Well I _did_ say that I am not supposed to marry anyone.”

 

**. . .**

 

Renly was furious.

Stannis had had several loud arguments with Robert through the years, but never had his youngest brother demonstrated such fury before; – especially not at him.

This would be considerably less maddening, if Eddard - as well as most of the keep - were not also upset. Once they had brought Lady Tully back to her chambers, for the maester and the maids to have a look at her, his friend had raged at Stannis in his solar, threatened Stannis that the lady better be alright and that he, Stannis, ‘ _better make things right_ ’.

According to her nursemaid, Shireen was inconsolable. The young lord Edmure refused to leave his sister’s side. As for Edric Storm: he had gone in a fit of rage - one his father would have been proud of - when he had not been allowed to visit the lady’s bedside.

 

Even eighteen hours later, with little to no sleep, Stannis still remembered his friend’s words: “ _I don’t know exactly what you did, Stannis, but you must have done something for Lady Sansa to want to leave on her own, unprotected, outside the castle walls. I care for you, Stannis: you are my closest friend. But if she does not recover, I blame you. Lady Sansa is a gentle, considerate, wonderful person. She even has the patience of the Maiden to have continually put up with your demands. And that isn’t even mentioning the hard, tumultuous life she has already led. Even with such a hard past, she is a light through the clouds: she can’t help but raise everyone’s spirits, care for all, warm your heart_...”

 

Stannis still remembered so clearly how he had felt his own heart stop, if only for a moment, when they had arrived at the tree and finally found her, thinking they had been too late. She had been unmovable, ghostly pale. Thankfully, reaching her, he had found that the lady was only unconscious. But even then, her heartbeat was slow – _too_ slow -, her skin cold to the touch, there were scratches and dried blood on her knuckles and fingers, and smudges on her face and hands...

 

She would be all right – she _had to be_. Every time they had talked, Lady Tully had shown a fire in her that would send even the Stranger running.

Then again, the Stranger had already come to visit her several times before...

Pressing his fists against the hard wood of his desk, Stannis looked at the tiny cracks in the ironwood. It was not _right_. She finally had a chance for a real life, one away from the constant scrutiny of a maester or septa, outside the confines of a motherhouse, and now if could be taken all away, before she could truly live...

He let out a hollow growl. Right and wrong – _fairness_ \- never did matter in the world of man. Stannis had learned that early on.

... Maybe the lady would actually best him: she would actually become the Stranger’s bride instead of his own, just like she had promised incessantly.

 

He could still feel her cold, small, delicate form in his arms, her shallow breath against his jerkin, as he had urged his horse to go faster across the planes... He could still picture the pale cheek, slightly tinted blue lips, the smudges of dirt and bark on her forehead, next to ear, and on her neck, the red bruising on her knuckles...

By the Seven, how he wanted to shake her... wake her... ask her why she had been so _foolish_?!... She did not like her new home?... She did truly hate the thought of being tied to him?... Did she truly want to escape the match at all cost, even losing her own life in the process?... Stannis struggled to keep his temper, but it seemed obvious she had tried to escape the match... ...Had she gone to meet someone?-

\- There was a frantic call!

Lifting his head and turning it in direction of the cry, Stannis realised it was coming from the hallway, getting closer.

“ _Lord Baratheon... Lord Baratheon_...”

It was a boy’s voice. Moving swiftly to the door and opening it gracelessly, Stannis noticed young Edmure Tully running towards him.

He stopped right in front of Stannis, panting, and in a loud whisper, spoke once more: “You were... not... in your... chambers... Sansa... awake... Maester... Creesen... told me... to... inform you... but that... I should not... tell anyone before I told you...and... not to... run.”

 

**. . .**

 

The last few minutes (– truly, the last few hours –) had been surreal to say the least. _Surreal_ and _exhausting_ : mind and heart still reeling from her new reality of officially being forever trapped in the Dragon Age, as well as the strange visions-dreams she had at the tree and then whilst she was sleeping. And now this...

Nevertheless, Sansa had to give it to the old guy. Maester Cressen could have gone to Lord Baratheon, he could have exposed her to the whole castle, or waited for Ser Brynden Tully to arrive and reveal her a fraud, but instead he had come to _her_.

All he wanted in return was the _truth_ : the truth about who she was.

Another thing Sansa was grateful for: the man’s patience and open-mindedness. Putting her trust in him, she had revealed that she was from the future, telling him from which century she was from, explaining how she had been travelling along the Stormlands with her Stark cousin, how she had been chased by would-be-rapists, and how she had landed _here_ , in the past, under the heart tree, to be found by Lord Baratheon and his men. Sansa insisted she had not lied; only that she did not correct Lord Baratheon when he believed her to be Lord Tully’s daughter. She had kept silent because she had honestly thought that no one would have believed her. At the very least, they would have thought her eccentric from her ‘ _travels and attack_ ’, and, at worst, completely delusional and mad and be sent to an asylum.

However, not once during the whole of her narration did the maester exclaim her to be a lying witch, from the Seven Hells, a heretic, or a mad-woman... Instead, he had only asked for a few clarifications at certain parts, but that was it.

In addition to her tale, she had quickly explained the pepper-spray and the gun. Following this, Sansa had asked him to bring her bag to her and she had taken out her passport as well as a picture of her parents from her wallet, to help explain further. She was about to demonstrate him how her iPhone and iPad worked as well as show one or two pictures of her cousins, aunt and uncle and Grand-parents when a hard knock interrupted her.

 

Maester Cressen turned his attention to the door: “That will be Lord Baratheon.”

At the statement, Sansa couldn’t help but raise the blankets further up, use them as a shield of sorts, for most of her body, even though she was already completely covered in one of the itchy Dragon Age nightgowns.

 

**. . .**

 

When Maester Cressen opened the door and greeted him, Stannis wasted no time in entering the room and seeking his intended.

 

And there she was.

Stannis felt his heart skip a beat, when finally seeing her sitting up, her bed, looking at him from across the room.

Part of him – _a very large part_ – wanted to chastise her, scold her for being so thoughtless, leaving the castle by herself, as well as demand an explanation for her actions. However, moving further in, noting how weak and pale she still looked, the worry in her blue and grey eyes, the tint of tiredness under them, despite the rest she had benefited from and the colour she had regained, Stannis held his tongue.

Instead, studying her immediate surroundings, Stannis noted some of the objects his men and himself had studied when Lady Tully had first arrived lying next to her, namely the ‘ _iPad_ ’ and ‘ _iPod_ ’. Upon seeing them, he couldn’t help but wonder if the lady was finally explaining to the maester what exactly these were for.

Of course, the thought just as quickly left him, when Stannis became suddenly very conscious of the fact that Lady Tully was in her _bed_ \- most likely in her shift - with her red hair completely detached, glowing around her face in the candle light.

Even not fully recovered, her skin pale she was stunning.

Not wanting for her to realise the sudden change of his thoughts, Stannis gave a dry cough as he shifted even closer to her. Looking at her face – _not below, at the covers, wondering what was lying beneath; definitely not that_ – he addressed her:

“Lady Tully. Your brother informed me that you had awoken. I trust you are feeling better?”

Her eyes moved briefly to her twisted fingers, to return shyly back to his own. With a bite of the lip, she spoke softly – more softly and with more reserve than ever:

“Yes, thank you, Lord Baratheon. Maester Cressen informed me you found me under the tree; for that I thank you as well.”

She looked once more at her hands. The pause was longer, this time. So much so, Stannis found himself tempted to speak, feeling the absence of her mismatched eyes on him. Mercifully, however, she broke the silence once more, her voice even more subdued.

“I also want to apologise for making everyone worry so much... for leaving the castle. I... I-I just wanted... I guess it doesn’t matter what I wanted... not any more, anyway.”

 

Stannis furrowed his brow at the words, but nodded all the same.

He was all the more ready to speak again. However, glancing briefly at Maester Cressen, ultimately decided it was best to hold his tongue, at least for now.

 

**. . .**

 

 

 _Three days_.

Three days of being mostly confined to her chambers, of speaking with Cressen, of Lord Big and Muscly, Septa Baela, Edmure and basically everyone else following her every move, when she was not in her chambers...

Three days, in which the reality of her situation started to sink in: that she was stuck here, that she would most likely never go home, never see her family ever again, that this was her life now...

Part of her was actually grateful that she had other things to concentrate on rather than the grief of never seeing her family again. Even the recurring strange images that continued to linger in her dreams were somewhat welcome. If she hadn’t had things to occupy her, Sansa might have broke down and cried some more – wailed to all that she just wanted to go home.

At least everyone seemed even friendlier with her. Her movements restrained, her meals were brought to her chambers or her ‘ _solar’_ , the children welcome to join her, and Septa Baela not once mentioned the words ‘ _betrothal’_ or ‘ _marriage’_.

Even Lord Baratheon seemed to have eased up on harassing her on question of their possible marriage. As well as have softened on his pompous arrogant nature. Sansa was actually particularly surprised that he had not given her a massive berating for having gone out of the castle alone, and ‘ _against his will’_. Furthermore, although their few moments together were brief, Sansa could tell he was clearly making an effort to restrain himself and keep from chastising her all the time, even though she could always clearly tell when he held a comment in, his jaw twitching slightly.

 

Yet, what had stunned Sansa the most happened on her second day of ‘recovery’. She had been reading through the Book of Houses that Cressen had encouraged her to memorise - whilst humming _‘Help’_ by the Beatles – when there was a knock at the door.

Thinking it was Cressen returning from his lessons with the boys, or maybe Mary, Sansa only called out a quick ‘e _nter’_ as she continued to read and hum. She was barely conscious of the sound of the door opening or of the – _much heavier than Cressen’s or Mary’s_ – footsteps. Nor did she give much thought to the fact that the intruder did not speak for quite some time.

She did, however, hear the unusual little yelp.

Her head whipped round at the unexpected sound to find Lord Big and Muscly standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring bemusedly at her. Though, at her head movement, he quickly straightened and gave a stiff – maybe still slightly wonky – nod.

He cleared his throat: “Lady Tully.”

Practically stumbling off her divan – very conscious that she had been in a less than graceful position – Sansa stammered, “L-lord Baratheon!... I... I... book...”, pointing brainlessly at the large volume that she had carelessly left on the settee. – _Good job Sansa, you can say two words: ‘I’ and ‘book’. So glad you were doing a Major in_ Literature.

Embarrassed as well as very conscious that his eyes were very much still on her, Sansa fixed her skirts as quickly as possible, before trying to regain her ladylike posture.

Thankfully that was when a dark bundle, pressed against Lord Big and Muscly’s chest, gave another yelp. Her eyes moving to the source that was when Sansa realised – “A Puppy!” before practically running to close the distance between them.

The black fur-ball seemed just as excited to see her as she it, letting out a bark, as he squirmed in Lord Baratheon’s arms; so much so that Lord Big and Muscly appeared relieved when Sansa held her arms out to take the puppy from him.

“ _Oh_... he is so _cute_...”

“H-he is yours, my lady.”

Sansa looked up at him, blinking, hope in her voice: “Really?”

A scowl formed on his up-until-then baffled face: “Of course; I do not make a habit of lying.”

Sansa ignored the brusqueness of the reply. He had given her a puppy!

The dog was so adorable, and so unexpected, that she moved unconsciously towards Lord Big and Muscly, to give him a hug. Thankfully, however, her senses returned just in time, and she beamed at him with an effusive “thank you so much”, whilst hugging the dog instead.

Her attention had already returned to the puppy, when - his voice definitely rough - Sansa heard Lord Baratheon add: “He is an Alsatian. He was part of a small litter... the other ones did not...”

Unfortunately this was when the little rascal decided to start giving Sansa dog-kisses: licking her cheek and neck. With a succession of giggles and gasps, she started petting the pup’s fur, trying to calm him down slightly: “Hmm... so soft...”

Lord Baratheon coughed – sounding more like choking: “ _Soft_?”

“Yes, _soft_. – Here.”

Her focus still on the adorable beast licking her face, Sansa’s free hand grabbed at Lord Big and Muscly’s larger one, and placed both his and hers on top of the puppy’s back, guiding his into a stroke-like motion over its coat. Once he seemed to have got the hang of it, Sansa moved her free hand to scratch the puppy under the ears.

She had been about to ask what the puppy’s name was when Sansa realised the hand had left the animal and the man was actually heading out to the door at rather a brisk pace.

Although very much bewildered by Lord Big and Muscly’s actions, Sansa ended up feeling dismayed rather than confused when it became clear that he had no idea how wonderful a gift _Fitzwilliam Darcy_ – as she had later decided to name the puppy, despite all the confused looks her decision garnered – was. For all her troubles, as well as her impending doom, the small puppy constantly at her side was a reassuring presence.

 

... Yes, her impending _doom_... because for the past three days, Storm's End had also been preparing for the arrival of the royal representative and _Ser Brynden Tully_.

No matter how much time passed, Sansa wasn’t sure it would be ever be enough before she met her supposed uncle, brother to her ‘ _father’_...

 _... Oh yes,_ and the legendary knight, known as ‘ _The Blackfish’_ , renowned for his skill and bravery. A great fighter and leader in not only the War of the Ninepenny Kings but also during the War of the Seven Kingdoms, the Greyjoy Rebellion and even in the War of Fire and Ice... The man Sansa’s real father had been named after and one of the men of the Dragon Age that her grandfather panted over like a teenage girl...

... _Oh yes_ , and how could she forget the most important: the man she had to convince to not call her out and reveal that she wasn’t in fact his ‘ _niece_ ’ but some stranger deceiving everyone, and possibly destroy everything she had worked so hard for these last few weeks.

 

All this did not even take into account that, after Lord Baratheon’s visit to her room, Cressen and her had talked further and he had explained to her the _delicacy_ of her situation. Lord Tully and his daughter, had been ‘rerouted’ on their journey to Storm's End, and were now in Kings Landing. The King had most likely ‘ _invited’_ – more like _forced_ – them to court. Cressen had warned Sansa what would likely come next: the royal escort joining Ser Brynden Tully was not only coming to speak with Lord Baratheon but had an ‘ _invitation’_ – a royal command – for him to join Lord Tully and Catelyn in the capital. – _Another something to look forward to, yay_! _Not_.

At least most of her time these last few days had been spent with Cressen - her new best-bud in this New (- well, _old_ really-) World. They had discussed in great detail on how she should act and say, living in the Dragon Age, as well as what she should specially do when meeting Ser Brynden Tully. For this matter, they had concluded that it would be best to tell her ‘ _uncle_ ’ everything she had confessed to Cressen as well as show him her ‘ _future belongings_ ’.

She had gone over her speech in her head a thousand times in the last few days (even wrote a few notes down), had made sure both her phone and tablet were charged and ready to be shown along with her wallet and the other items in her bag, had practiced her curtsy, had reread parts of the books Cressen had given her to read. - All that was left to do now was wait for the man to arrive... and proceed to denounce her as a fraud. Or possibly... _hopefully_ not.

To say she was unsettled, especially at the speed with which this was all happening, would have been an understatement.

 

Nevertheless, here she now was, standing in the main courtyard with everyone else, Lord Big and Muscly to her right, her ‘brother’ to her left. She had even taken care to wear her most royal blue dress, to help accentuate as much as possible her ‘ _Tully-ness_ ’.

There was no backing out now... Not that she had anywhere to go.

 

Edmure must have sensed her anxiety, since he slid his hand into her own and whispered to her: “Don’t worry Sansa, Uncle Brynden will love you.”

\- _If only_...

To further take her from her troubled thoughts, Sansa felt a slight nudge at her leg: _Mr_ _Darcy_. She gave a small, yet still very nervous smile at the puppy, as she slid her fingers through his fur to reassure and calm herself.

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis couldn’t help but notice that Lady Tully seemed to have lost most if not all of the colour she had regained since the ‘ _tree incident_ ’.

His thoughts dimmed further when, for what seemed liked the hundredth time, he thought about the fact that, even though she seemed to have recuperated, since the accident Lady Tully had not returned to her usual fiery self. Stannis should have been glad that she had lost her wilfulness. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel as if the sun had been dimmed, now continually covered with grey incessant clouds.*

At least he knew the reason.

Cressen had explained that upon arriving at the tree, Lady Tully had remembered what had happened to her and the rest of her party. They had been attacked whilst crossing the mountains. She had been sent forward with one of the men protecting her, whilst the others fought their adversaries. The last of her men had perished along with the final two assailants, all falling into a ravine before her very eyes. Thankfully, apart from her dress being torn beyond repair, she had been more or less unscathed. Alone, not knowing what else to do, she had continued to head to Storm's End. The traumatic experience and exhaustion had led to her collapse under the tree, and her mind blocking the memories of the ordeal.

This with the fact that – as Eddard had pointed out - she was seeing her uncle for the first time in so long; it was more than understandable that the lady was still greatly distressed.

 

At the sound of a small yelp, his eyes flickered to the whelp at her feet, and followed the movement of her hand in its black fur. Tamping down the strange feeling rising in his chest at the sight, Stannis remember that at least Lady Tully had been pleased by the pup; he still remembered how her whole face seemed to have glowed, even if only momentarily, when first receiving him.

And yet the _clouds_ still lingered.

 

**. . .**

 

She was so nervous it took Sansa a few moments to realise it was not her own body that was trembling but the ground beneath their feet.

Soft tremors increased before the ground actually rumbled - not too different to the sounds of a coming storm – as horses and their riders passed through the main gate and Sansa counted more than a dozen entering the courtyard.

Whilst her heart hammered, as if in competition with the hooves, her eyes went straight to the tall red-haired man at the front of the party. There was a demand for authority in his stance and gaze, one which had clearly helped this man become such a renowned knight.

When he drew closer, she was able to distinguish his features properly, Sansa let out a hollow gasp. He wore a close-cropped beard, there was a slight greying of his hair, but he still very much had the blazing redness of the Tully mane. The man was so similar to her father... Her own Brynden Tully would most likely have looked very similar to this man standing in front of her, if he were still alive. **

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis scrutiny of the arriving party was interrupted by something grabbing his wrist.

Glancing downward, he realised it had been Lady Tully, her small delicate hand still clutching him. Looking at her pale face, the way she was biting her lower lip, her eyes on the arrivals, he registered that the movement had been unconsciously made; – the lady too nervous to realise her action.

Her face even more pale, as if seeing a ghost, her attention only on her uncle, Stannis wondered when was the last time Lady Tully had actually seen the knight, for she clearly remembered him.

His own gaze flicking between the two, Stannis followed as the men dismounted. And then... _stilled_.

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa knew the exact moment the men, Ser Brynden Tully particularly, noticed her – as well as most of the castle - as the man stopped mid-step to stare at her as if she were a strange apparition.

She could feel his gaze – as long as a dozen others - going from her hair, coloured similar to his own, to her Tully blue eye to the half blue-half silver one.

Thankfully before any of the guests could say anything, Lord Baratheon stepped forward bringing most of the attention to himself.

Her heart pounding hard in her ears, her mind still buzzing over the arrivals and especially at the sight of Ser Brynden Tully, Sansa barely followed the introductions. Nor was she truly conscious of the many gazes continually reverting back to her.

 _No_ , her focus was on her ‘ _uncle_ ’.

 

And then he was there in front of her.

Although his stare was hard and curious, and his posture rigid Sansa could not help but be grateful that the only thing the man did was give her stiff nod as he greeted her: “Lady Sansa.”

The lack of ‘ _Tully’_ or ‘ _niece_ ’ as well as any kind of warmth was not lost on her. However, she only felt relief that he did not turn around and call her a imposter in front of the whole assembly. Her body calming ever so slightly, she gave him a demure yet still very much nervous smile, as she gave him her most respectful curtsy: “Ser Brynden Tully.”

 

**. . .**

 

As Stannis followed Ser Brynden and then the royal delegate as they introduced themselves to Lord Edmure, Lady Shireen and Ser Stark, his mind whirled in confusion at the obvious rift between Lady Tully and her uncle. The knight even seemed to become a whole new person; colder, more forbidding. Yet, when he then greeted his nephew and great-niece, he was warm and full of joy.

This disparity, the wide look Lady Tully had given when she first saw her uncle as well as her own clear continual nervousness had Stannis speculating as to the source: of the possible past history between the two. - _Is Ser Brynden somehow linked to her past injury? To her move to the motherhouse_? _Has he seen her since her confinement_?

 

**. . .**

 

When the introductions finally completed, the men started moving inside the keep. Sansa, as for her self, discreetly followed as Brynden Tully moved closer to Lord Baratheon, his own gaze continuing to flick to her. It was quite clear of what – or really, of _whom_ \- the man wanted to talk about with Lord Big and Muscly.

Just then, just at the right moment, Sansa could have kissed Maester Cressen, for the old guy intervening and came to the two men and suggested that the Riverland knight spend a few moments with his niece first, since he most likely had not seen her in a long time (where as he had seen Lord Big and Muscly as well as Edmure and Shireen a little over a year ago). She could see her _'uncle's_ mind considered the suggestion. Additionally, she did not miss the slight glare of warning Ser Eddard sent to Lord Big and Muscly. Thankfully both men – possibly reluctantly – agreed, as Lord Baratheon had to speak with the royal envoy, and Ser Brynden was clearly keen to learn more about Sansa ( - _and why not go straight to the source?_ ).

 

**.**

 

Wanting to be in her element, as well as wanting to appear strong and confident for this crucial meeting, Sansa had brought Ser Brynden Tully to her ‘solar’. (- Cressen might have also pointed out that even though he was her ‘ _uncle’_ , he was still an unattached man and she was unwed, so she could not use her chambers). Unfortunately there was one great flaw in all of this: Sansa could not get herself to look at her ancestor directly for more than a few brief moments. This was not because she was greatly intimidated by him (- though, she definitely was -), nor was it even due to the fact that her very existence depended on him (- though, it definitely did -), but because he made her think of her father too much, making her heart swell as old memories resurfaced...

 

Sansa was actually thankful for the palpable tension in the air, and Ser Brynden Tully's hard gaze on her, as these helped her focus on the – very dire – matter at hand.

The silence dragging between them, he continued to study every part of her, as if she were a strange creature he had yet to understand. – _Well, that is kind of true_...

Fidgeting her hands possibly for the hundredth time, Sansa spoke first, all the while pacing around the room.

“Ser Brynden...” - _Not uncle, definitely **not** uncle... doesn’t seem like he would like the term at all_.

She tried to clear her ever drying throat – _might as well go straight to the point_ : “... You... you and I both know that I am not your niece - nor you my uncle – nor is Lord Edmure my brother or Lady Shireen my own niece.”

She pausef, her feet also stopping, to look at him.

His eyes were still fixed on her – _scrutinizing_ her. Sansa figured he was most likely trying to identify all the ways she did not look like a Tully. He was possibly comparing her to the late Lysa Tully, the younger Catelyn and even Lady Minisa Tully. Sansa could only hope that he did not find too many non-Tully traits in her. For once, she craved for _all_ her father’s Tully features to show above all else, and that none of her mother’s Starkness or even any of her grandmother’s Targaryen heritage would show - these would most likely confuse him even more, until she was able to explain everything fully.

Finally the man gave her a sort of reaction: a stiff nod for her to proceed.

Encouraged – _somewhat_ \- Sansa spoke once more, though this time stood still facing him, though occasionally felt her eyes drift nervously to her twitchy fingers clasped together:

“I am not Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter, but I am your family... I... I am your brother’s descendant... My name is Sansa _Tully_. My father was called Brynden Tully... he was, I believe named after you...”

A dark frown formed at the statement but still he did not speak.

Willing to only see this as encouraging, Sansa pulled out her father’s ring and presented it to him, explaining: “This was given to my father by my grandfather on his twenty-first birthday. From what my father told me, this ring has been in our family for centuries... just not as far back as _this_ century.” Another pause, her voice wobbly, “My father was given this ring in 1965... I inherited this ring when... when he was killed in 1977. I am a Tully... I am just one from 1700 years from now.”

Sensing he was about to say something, and fearing that he still did not believe her, Sansa quickly took out her wallet from her gown, and showed him the photo of her parents father on their wedding day: her Tully father, twenty-five, smiling in his dark tux, her Stark mother, twenty-one, beautiful in her white wedding dress.

 

**. . .**

 

It was long past midday when Ser Brynden Tully finally emerged from his niece’s solar.

By then the king’s delegation had already delivered His Grace’s missive. They had also spoken of the invitation and the journey to Kings Landing. Of course, the royal emissary, Ser Denys Celtigar, had also been clearly interested in talking about Lady Tully. Him, as well as Stannis’ uncle, Lomas Estermont (– and all others from the retinue –) had seemed and continued to be far _too_ curious about Stannis’ intended for his liking. Thankfully Maester Cressen had been able to forestall their prying, at least of the moment.

 

Frustratingly, however, Stannis’ own concerns about his betrothed and her meeting with her uncle were _not_ alleviated. Especially not when Ser Brynden Tully finally joined Maester Cressen, Eddard, Ser Lomas, Ser Cortnay and himself. Instead, Stannis’ interest had only piqued further, at the knight’s slightly strange posture and pallor upon coming to his solar. There was also the rather key moment when the man made it more than clear he preferred delving straight into the issue of the royal invitation...

“Lord Baratheon, from the letter my brother sent a few days ago, you know that my brother and niece are in the capital, by the king’s _request_... From your own _invitation_ , it is my brother’s belief - as well as my own - that King Aerys plans to name _you_ his Hand.”

Stannis blinked, “Name _me_ Hand?”

Personally, Stannis for himself  _had_ heard certain rumours that His Grace was no longer... _content_ with the current Hand, and thus, was possibly seeking a replacement. But _this_ was definitely not expected: _him_ , Hand of the King.

Pondering on this unexpected news further, his face returned to its usual frown as Stannis remembered the last time he had actually seen the king. It had been when they had come to retrieve Lord Edmure. Having cut himself on the Throne the day of Stannis’ arrival, the meeting had been brief. His Grace's silver-gold Targaryen hair had hung down to his waist in wild tangles, his beard unkempt, his fingernails long and yellow, his face and body gaunt, his arms and legs having several scabs and half-healed cuts. Stannis had actually had some trouble remembering His Grace was _only_ five-and-forty, from his appearance. Even at Harrenhall, the king’s presence had already seemed diminished and his appearance and state of mind being possibly questionable.

But the king barely knew him...

 _Yes_ , with Stannis’ grandmother being a Targaryen, his father _had_ been cousin to His Grace. The two men had even been friends in their youth, from Cressen's tales, but these seemed to be the extent of the connection Stannis had with the man. These, and Stannis being the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Possibly reading his uncertainty, this was when Maester Cressen added,

“We all know King Aerys no longer trusts his heir, and that he has not for quite some time now. I still remember when your lord father had been called to court to be part of the Small Council. Lord Steffon had heard talk that King Aerys believed that Lord Lannister and Prince Rhaegar had conspired to have him killed by storming Duskendale, so the prince would ascend the Throne and marry the Lannister daughter.

By naming Lord Baratheon to the council and then assigning him to be the one to go to Volantis to find the prince a bride, many even whispered that the king intended to make your lord father Hand of the King, upon the successful completion of this mission, and that His Grace planned to have Lord Tywin arrested and executed for high treason.”

Ser Lomas spoke, confirming the statement with a nod, “There were also stories that Aerys was convinced that the Great Lion somehow murdered your father, Tywin Lannister knowing that Lord Baratheon was going to replace him upon his return to Westeros.”**

The Tully knight added, looking uncertainly between Stannis and Eddard, “And... and there is also  _Harrenhall_.”

 

 _Ah, of course_...

Going by the logic that the king did not trust his heir, and that he believed Lord Jon Connington being Prince Rhaegar’s, why not choose a new Hand that would be the least likely to align himself with the Dragon Prince...

 _\- And who better than the man whose betrothed Prince Rhaegar stole_?

Eddard eyes were on Stannis as he finally spoke, “It would make sense: King Aerys believes Lord Baratheon loathes the prince. He is known for being dutiful above all else. His Grace possibly also believes there exists some tension with Lord Lannister, as Lord Stannis rejected his daughter.”

 

**.**

 

The six men continued to discuss the royal invitation and the possibility of Stannis becoming Hand as well as his response, if it were to happen, long into the night. Finally, past the Hour of the Wolf, all tired, minds having been stretched to their limits, they decided to reconvene the following day after some much needed rest.

 

However, not fully satisfied, before Ser Brynden Tully could take his leave, Stannis turned to him and asked, no longer able to wait, “And on the matter of Lady Tully?”

There was a strange shift in Ser Brynden stance at the question. Stannis even noted that the Blackfish's gaze briefly met Maester Cressen, before he finally looked back to Stannis, “What of Lady Tully?”

“Our betrothal?”

There was a pause, the knight clearly thinking his words over, before he spoke once more,

“Maester Cressen as well as Lady Sansa herself informed me that her party perished on her way to Storm's End... What you also need to know, Lord Baratheon, is that Lady Sansa was not in a motherhouse. She only _believes_ she was. Just after her sixth nameday, whilst playing in the gardens surrounding the castle, she was attacked by a group of fanatics trying to steal her. They had heard of her unique eyes, as well as the troubles of her birth and had thought... _well_ , none can be certain what they were thinking... In any case, her maid was killed, but thankfully Lady Sansa was only wounded, though gravely. She still carries the scar on her back.****

For her safety and for her health, she was moved to a secluded property which my brother had found and visited on occasion during his youth. It is a place in the North, in the Neck; – somewhere where no one would think to look for her. Lady Sansa was never told of the true threats on her life. And my brother encouraged the belief that she had died at infancy...

...I ...I know of what my niece, Lysa, did. I have many thoughts on that matter... However know this, Lord Baratheon: Lady Sansa is _nothing_ like Lysa, and it would be an error to think so. She has had already lived through too many troubles in her young life. _My_ blood runs through her veins, she is _my_ family.”

Stannis did not miss the underlying warning in the knight’s words, and gave a stiff nod of understanding.

 

There was another moment of silence, and then Ser Bynden gave a solemn nod of his own, “You will have your bride.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Inspired by: “When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.” - Loras Tyrell to Tyrion Lannister talking about Renly Baratheon; A Storm of Swords, _Chapter 12, Tyrion II_.
> 
> ** - Brynden Tully: based on books, in 289AC, he is between 44 and 47 years old.
> 
> *** - Aerys thinking that Rhaegar and Tywin were conspiring together as well as Aerys believing that Tywin had somehow killed Steffon Baratheon was an actual belief in GRRM’s story.
> 
> **** - There is a reason Bryden Tully changed the story of Sansa’s past. (In the same way as Cressen giving a ‘more believable’ story to how Sansa arrived on her own to Storm's End)


	17. PART I, Chapter 16 – Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the next chapter - hope you like (even if maybe not the most joyful one) 
> 
> Once more: Big thank you to Sarah_Black for Beta Reading most of this chapter :)
> 
> Next chapter should be sometime next week.

 

 

The sound of rain hitting the panes of glass woke her.

Moving to the window and only seeing the faint outlines of the castle walls through the rain and fog, Sansa was reminded of the old Northern saying: ‘ _Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage_.’ Her thoughts as grim as the weather, she wondered what they said in the South about rain on a wedding day.*

 

Like many girls before her, Sansa had often dreamt of her wedding day. She had not only thought of it many times, but had acted it out on numerous occasions with Jon and Stann taking turns playing her groom and the one who would walk her down the aisle. A couple of times, Arya had even been willing to walk her down the aisle or at least throw fake petals – albeit in a rather brusque manner – onto the ground before the bridal walk.

She had pictured it in the Riverlands in a Sept, outside in front of the large Weirwood tree at Winterfell Castle, or even in the Godswood at the Wall, she had even pictured it very briefly at Casterly Rock or Lannisport when she was still with Joffrey, and once on a beach in Dorne...

The style of her dress and hair depended on her tastes of that particular moment in her life. But she knew she wanted a long white dress and Blue Winter Roses either in her bouquet or in her hair or both.

 

But she was not getting married at Riverrun, or in Winterfell. Neither Uncle Creg, nor grandpa Ben would walk her down the aisle. Arya would not be grumbling about wearing a dress. Neither would Stann and Jon be there to tell her she was beautiful, and that her groom was the luckiest man in Westeros... As well as threatening her fiancé that if he ever hurt her he would have to deal with them... and Uncle Creg’s shotgun.

Looking across the room to the dress and maiden cloak, she felt a slight tightness at not only seeing a gown of blue and red but also at _only_ seeing the Tully colours. Although her chosen dress would have been white, Sansa had always dreamt of a dress with details illustrating her Stark as well as her Tully heritage.

She couldn’t even have the blue winter roses. – It would have been tasteless to ask for them, when the roses were best known to have been given to Lady Lyanna by another man when she had still been betrothed to Lord Baratheon.

 

But all these were only small issues compared to what pained her the most.

Every time she had imagined her wedding day, Sansa had always pictured herself _in love_ with her husband-to-be, and she had imagined him so madly in love with her that it would feel as if he would die if he had to wait another day to marry her.

 _Well_... Her groom was definitely impatient to marry her. But his eagerness had nothing to do with _love_... or even lust...

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the coolness of the chambers.

She had never thought she would be terrified of this day, nor that she would not love her groom and he would not be madly in love with her.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips harder against the glass panel.

What made things worse was that she was also most likely going to lose her virginity tonight. She now actually regretted her foolish romantic notions of ‘ _saving herself_ ’ for someone she truly loved and who truly loved her back...

 

Of course, the nightmare only got worse from there.

Seeing as Sansa had planned to ‘ _become a silent sister_ ’, Septa Baela had explained the whole wedding procession: the walking down the aisle, the maiden cloak being replaced by her lord husband’s, the ‘tying of the hands’, the Septon’s speech, the vows (- which she had been very pleased to find out that Sansa knew already – little did she know that Sansa had spoken them many times before -), the meal... and the _bedding_.

Even if she hadn’t had Arya finding it amusing to tell Sansa, over the years, of the ‘ _horror rituals’_ \- different ‘ _wedding rituals_ ’, mainly to do with the wedding night, that had been custom through the ages for lords, ladies, royals... - Sansa knew the tradition. The newlyweds were carried to the bed to consummate their marriage: the bride by the men, undressing her whilst telling bawdy jokes on the way, and the women doing the same to the bridegroom. Only after both were bundled naked in the bed were they left alone.

 _Another great way to freak out a young virgin_... _Clearly a man came up with the idea_.

 

 

Mr Darcy let out a yelp from the bed, before a soft knock resonated from the door.

Not sure if she welcomed the distraction - for what it most likely entailed - Sansa only turned her gaze towards it, but stayed silent.

Not that it seemed to matter: after another bark from her puppy, the door opened and Septa Baela, followed by Mary and three other maids, came into the room, all curtsying to Sansa. One placed a platter of food on the side table, another lit all the candles in her room, and the last stirred the fire. Two men also entered, bringing smoking buckets filled with hot water to the bath tub.

Clearly as overwhelmed as Sansa by the many arrivals, Mr Darcy scrambled to her, nipping at her heals.

Mary followed close behind him, coming to Sansa’s side with a soft, commiserating smile on her face.

As for the septa, she looked over the proceedings, a satisfied look on her face, as if she had been the one to raise Sansa and _this_ was Sansa’s finest moment. With an internal cry, Sansa realised that in the septa’s mind, this probably was: the one of the two ultimate accomplishments in a young lady’s life: marry lord what’s-his-face, before giving him many sons.

 

**.**

 

She was only able to eat a few bites of her breakfast. All too quickly she had then been bathed, rubbed, washed and dried, before the maids helped her into the corset, skirts, and wedding dress. As the ties were fastened securely at her back, Sansa felt her body go numb. Moments later, feeling returned, yet they weren’t welcome. She felt constricted and the lace irritated her skin. It was probably for the best that she had barely eaten: her stomach was swirling into a pit of nothingness and Sansa doubted it would look well if the bride accidentally became sick on the groom half way through the vows.

Their tasks complete, ignorant of Sansa’s inner turmoil, Septa gave a satisfied nod, before directing the maids once more:

“Take care to bring Lady Tully’s belongings to the Lady’s chambers.”

It took Sansa a few moments to realise that Septa Baela meant _her_ new chambers: – the ones she would be in _tonight_ , adjoining the lord’s chambers. She could have sworn what little food she had eaten tried to come back up, nearly choking her. She was barely aware of what was happening to her as Mary then led her to the side table and started fixing her hair into an intricate low bun.

 

When all was finally done, she finally stood at the centre of the room. She could actually see tears forming at the corners of Septa Baela’s eyes as she looked at Sansa from head to toe. – Though unlike Sansa’s hidden ones, they were most likely tears of joy. Clearly deciding not comment of the fact that Sansa probably looked as pale as a ghost and had yet to say two words, the older woman stated: “You look beautiful, my lady.”

Mary even seemed to agree by the small encouraging smile she gave her.

However, before Sansa could take a look for herself, in the mirror, there was another knock at the door.

 

 _Ser Brynden Tully_. Her father’s namesake... One of her grandfather’s heroes...

 _Oh_ , how she _hated_ him.

Sansa knew it was foolish of her, but she could help but feel a sharp tug of resentment at the man. Not only for ever coming to Storm's End but also for actually convincing her to go through with all of _this_.

 

She could still remember all of their talk, not five days ago, the morning after his arrival, when he had come to speak with her once more. Sansa had believed it was to ask her more about the future of the Riverlands, Riverrun in the 20th Century, or about her father, her cousins... _Well, he had_.

Unfortunately, he had also had come to speak of a totally different matter. Before his arrival, Cressen had already warned her about the king’s invitation. Ser Brynden had only emphasised the urgency of the matter:

“Lady Sansa, I do not know how things are in King’s Landing in the future, but right now it is a dangerous place: a pit of treachery and spies. What makes things worse is the fact that the king... _truthfully_ , the king is not right in the head.”

 _Oh_ , didn’t Sansa know: ‘ _Mad King Aerys’_ was what the History books called him, several centuries later.

“Lord Baratheon has to go to King’s Landing: to refuse the king would be seen as a direct act of defiance. He needs to go... as well as you.”

Before Sansa had been able to protest, he had continued:

“My lady, I believe you. I believe that you are from a different time, stuck in this one... However, your very existence is very much in jeopardy. By now, or very soon, the king... or more probably the king’s spy, Varys, will become aware of your existence. Others will also learn of you. King Aerys does not like surprises; he will want to meet you. If you do not come, there will be... _consequences_.”

There had been a dramatic pause – Sansa actually imagining TV danger music in the background – before he had continued, looking straight at her:

“I cannot in good conscience, deny that you are my niece, when you _are_ my family. Nor could I let you go to King’s Landing unprotected... I... Sansa: I have to encourage you to accept Lord Baratheon’s hand and marry him before we leave.”

Her mouth gaping, the look of betrayal had obviously been clear on her face, because he had placed his hand softly on her own whilst he insisted:

“He is a dutiful, faithful and honourable lord, Sansa. I could not say this of many men. Once married, you will be protected. – Neither the king, nor any other House, could force you into another alliance with a less understanding lord... Surely you realise this?... In any case, you seem to have come to some kind of... _understanding_ with Lord Baratheon and the people of Storm's End...”

 

Everything he had said made sense. Most of her even understood all too well the logic of his words. Nevertheless, this did not mean Sansa was happy or truly accepted them... accepted this fate thrust upon her...

Right here, right now, she only felt hate for him and every powerful male through the ages, deciding the fate of those beneath them.

 

Looking at her fully, he gave her a small smile: “You look beautiful, Sansa.”

Sansa looked at herself in the mirror. He was right: even though clearly pale, her eyes overly wide, she did look beautiful.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this made things better or worse.

 

Turning from her reflection, her voice barely above a whisper, she finally spoke: “Could... could you give a few moments... just by myself?”

She could see septa Baela staring at her sceptically – possibly thinking Sansa would try to run – but she kept her eyes on Ser Brynden. Thankfully, he soon gave her a nod - they both knew she had nowhere to run: “Of course, we will be waiting right outside.”

 

Just as the door shut, she wasted no time scurrying to her bag. Looking through it, she swiftly took out her tightest pair of skinny jean. – She might be getting married today, but none would get to see her fully naked or get past her ‘chastity belt’ without a fuss.

 

**.**

 

Two of Lord Baratheon’s wards pulled open the large ironwood doors to the Sept. Her hand clutching Ser Brynden’s arm, she placed a first tentative step onto the cold stone floor as she took in the surroundings.

Her eyes saw everything through a new light – a _harsher_ light.

The sept was built from seven main stone columns, soaring upwards to create a large vaulted ceiling. Between each of the columns, the gloom from outside entered to building, creating shadows against the borders of the high windows. In addition, it seemed like a thousand candles had been lit in the peripheral aisles and the transepts of the sept, generating dancing patterns on the stone floor, walls and ceiling. These also added dark shadows for each of the seven towering statues in front of the main pillars. The Seven gods stared down at her, making her feel all the more oppressed.

Every time she had come here before, it had been to try and understand this time or, even more often, to try and figure out a way back to her home. Now, it seemed this place of supposed sanctuary was more than ever focused on keeping her _here_ , tying her further to this new life.

 

Her thoughts turned even more sorrowful: even the Old Gods had not helped her escape this new prison; – they had actually been the ones to bring her here.

She wanted to cry out that this was all a mistake, that she wasn’t supposed to be here. Instead, she only felt her throat dry up further, as her eyes fell on the person at the other end of the central corridor, waiting for her: _Lord Stannis Baratheon_ , Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands... and, all too soon, her lord husband.

He was intimidating in his black and golden finery, though the clothes still oddly understated for a high lord. Tall and broad-shouldered, his face full of sharp angles, and although he was looking a little uncomfortable, there was no denying the strength radiating from him. Taking him all in, a shiver running through her back and scar, Sansa couldn’t help but be thankful for the distance that still separated them...

... As well as having had some say in her maiden cloak. Sansa had made sure it resembled more a modern veil, also covering her face, rather than an actual cloak. The lace was thinner, more delicate, she could see through it, but it still afforded her some ‘protection’, even if only briefly.

 

This whole study of the sept and her husband-to-be only lasted a few moments, before Sansa quickly shifted her gaze downward.

Shireen was half up the aisle by now, dropping petals as she went (- the other two of her small demands: that Shireen, Lord Baratheon’s daughter, be part of the ceremony and that there be a flower girl).

It was then Ser Brynden’s - a mummer of father - and her turn. Still, she held tight to his arm as they floated down the centre with all eyes on them as they kept moving forward.

 

And, much too soon, they were climbing the steps that led to the altar and her future husband, all under the watchful gaze of the Mother and Father. Sansa’s nails dug into her ‘uncle’s’ arm as he brought her forth to Lord Baratheon.

Her heart stopped for a single moment. Everything seemed to still, as if the whole world was waiting. Something fluttered inside her belly as she first saw his hard iron jaw and then those dark blue eyes, stormy like the seas surrounding the castle, through the lace shielding her face.

Sansa wondered if he could see her own eyes? Could he see the frantic worry simmering inside her? The fear in her eyes?

 

There was a pause. No more steps to take.

And then Ser Brynden lifted the veil, uncovering her to the groom and all to see. The comforting weight of her cloak disappeared, removing the last of her protection. She had never felt so naked and exposed until this very moment. It took all of her strength to keep from shaking harder than she already was, her hands unconsciously grabbing each other for the slightest of comforts; though the feel of her clammy fingers proved to her that this was in fact really happening - that she was really _here_.

Lord Baratheon blinked.

Another second passed, another shiver ran through Sansa, and he stepped aside, gesturing for her to stand by him. Somehow, her legs carried her even as she trembled inside. Yet, even as she stepped next to him, she took care not to touch Lord Baratheon.

 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

At the directive, her quivering body robotically turned and bowed, as she presented her back to the man she was being tied to. She felt hard fingers move onto her shoulders. Sansa couldn’t help but stiffen ever so slightly as she felt his fingertips briefly brush against the skin of her neck as he started placing the cloak around her shoulders. He must have felt it as well as it seemed he took care to not touch her again. His movements were almost mechanical, as he secured the black and golden weight over her body. Although heavier, with its added thickness and length, this new cloak felt cold, the feeling sinking deep within her.

 

Once the cloak was in place he resumed his position to her right.

The septon indicated for them to join hands, her small one seeming even tinier placed above his large calloused one. A thin strip of white cloth enclosed the two together.

 

“My lords and my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. By the Light of the Seven I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

Gazing back to Lord Baratheon and Sansa, he then instructed: “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Facing her ‘betrothed’, Sansa swallowed as her gaze travelled the length of his black doublet. It seemed to stretch tight over him, making his chest broader, his arms thicker. She forced her gaze higher, pausing at his neck, willing herself to slow her breathing. Her nerves getting the better of her, she could only focus on the very edge of his collar as she open her mouth ever so slightly, and murmured:

“ _Father... Smith... Warrior... Mother... Maiden... Crone... Stranger... I am his and he is mine, on this day until the end of my days_.”

 

**. . .**

 

For the last five days, Stannis had received constant comments of caution from Ser Brynden Tully that his niece was not like any other woman and for him, _Stannis_ , to be _patient_ and _considerate_ with her. Here, _now_ , Stannis finally truly understood the man’s words. The Blackfish was not questioning his character or sense of honour or even his treatment of others but had been genuinely forewarning Stannis about his betrothed.

She was _terrified_.

Here they were, saying their vows, joining themselves to one another, and all he could truly notice was – although she was absolutely captivating – his bride’s pallor, the tremble and chilliness of her hand hovering over his, the slight tremor of the rest of her body, regardless of the overly stiff way she was holding herself, standing next to him.

When her hand was placed on his it had been like touching ice. Even before, when she had first arrived at the altar and her light blue eyes had met his own through the veil, they had held no warmth, or even true awareness. So much so that they had made Stannis think of those monsters from beyond the Wall Eddard had told him about in their youths.

This all had to be more than the fear of tying herself to him. _No_ – Stannis was convinced such fear came from her being terrified of marrying... of marriage itself, no matter the groom.

It was slightly understandable, seeing as she had thought for several years that she would be surrounded by pious women for the rest of her life. It also explained further her violent protests against the idea of marriage when she had first arrived to Storm's End. However it was also unfortunate - and rather _frustrating_ \- that clearly Septa Baela and even the woman’s uncle had not been very successful in alleviating her maidenly worries.

... It would now be for him to reassure her and convince her that marriage - _their_ marriage – would be an agreeable, even advantageous future. This was especially true in comparison with the sort of future waiting for her in a motherhouse.

Their vows finished.

Wanting some reaction from her, possibly even wanting to soothe her fears slightly, Stannis squeezed her hand gently. He regretted the action almost at once as she raised her big, innocent, frightened eyes into his. She blinked, to then looked at their joined hands binding her to him.

She sucked in a ragged breath. - Could everyone hear it or just him?

He could see the rapid pulse beating in her neck. Her hand trembled in his. She met his gaze once more.

So pained was her stare, so clear was her struggle against the tears that threatened onto spill on her colourless cheeks, that it was Stannis who turned away first.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Sansa was married.

 

She had walked down the aisle, had been covered by a man’s cloak, had said words binding herself to him, and had walked back down the aisle.

Now the wedding reception was passing by with her mostly oblivious to it.

She did not hear the music and laughter filling the hall...

She did not see the merriment and exuberance in front of her...

She did not taste the small amount of food going into her mouth...

 

Her brain was completely frazzled, her body numb. Part of her was convinced that none of it had actually happened.

The vows hadn’t even had any mention of _love_ or _cherish_ or even _protect_. No, only ‘ _mine_ ’; - _ownership_. Words that should have filled her with joy, only made her stomach turn further. It was not as if she was not warned though. _He_ had stated it himself not a week ago. _He_ had blatantly spoken of her being ‘his _property’_ ; at ‘his _discretion_ to do with as he would’.

Sansa took the briefest of glimpses to the man sitting next to her, watching over his subjects. _My husband_.

He was sporting a rather blank expression. The same stoic one he seemed to have worn during the ceremony.

Even though she thought he could have looked at least a little _happy_ that he had finally got what he wanted, she could not help but be relieved that at least he did not have a self-satisfied smirk for having ‘ _won’_. If he had, Sansa would have been very much tempted to punch it right off his face.

Her temper spiked though, remembering when Ser Tully had ‘announced’ that there would be a wedding. At the news, _he_ had not really seemed all that pleased about it. No, instead he had only commented on how surprising it was that it had actually taken this long for someone to convince her to do her duty. After which, he had left her and her maids to her own preparations for the wedding, barely seeing her for the next five days, now that the ‘matter was resolved’.

 

**. . .**

 

The hall was full.

Food was plentiful – _too many courses_ \- , Dornish and Arbor wine flowed in abundance – _in_ _excess_ –, and the crowd was bursting with life and euphoria - _too_ _high-spirited_.

If he had been next to him, Eddard would have argued that it was understandable. Not only was it a wedding, but it was their lord’s wedding. Moreover, as Stannis’ first wedding had been at Riverrun, most in the assembly had not been privy to the celebrations, thus they were ‘ _making up for it’_.

His jaw twitched being reminded of his closest friend’s absence from his side. His stare moving to a table close by, handing on his friend, he also thought of Eddard’s odd demeanour and excessive sombreness these past few days. The most trying had been when Stannis had suggested that Eddard be at the High table for the wedding feast, the northern-man had declined, arguing that it was for the family of the bride and groom. He had even gone on to remind that even though he was the son of a Great Lord he was but the _second_ son, and that Stannis’ first betrothed had been Eddard’s sister and some, especially his bride’s family, might not look too favourably on his presence.

His gaze followed as Eddard took a large gulp from his drink before responding to whatever Ser Richard Horpe had just said to him with a rather fleeting smile. Six years ago, during his first wedding, Stannis had assumed that his friend’s sobriety was to do with the _issue_ regarding his sister. On the other hand, now he could only deduce that Eddard was just as sombre for weddings as he was for everything else, no matter the festive air around him.

 

And yet, there was one person present who was dourer than Eddard. His _bride_.

Since being guided to the high table and made to sit by his side, she had barely paid any mind to him, or anybody else for that matter. Instead, her gaze focused on the - mostly untouched – food in front of her, she sat, straight as an arrow, her posture stiff – nothing like the more relaxed poise she typically adopted. She had barely eaten during the meal. Neither had she touched her cup much. Although Stannis had been pleased to note that not only did she not over indulge in spirits but seemed to prefer lemon water to wine.

 _This will not do_...

Since the vows, she had not said two words, not even to him: her _husband_.

Gaze moving from his bride to the hall and back to the table, Stannis settled on how to proceed. He had finished his meal. After a couple of bites of the venison and vegetables and eating one lemon tart, his bride did not show any signs of wishing to eat more. The dancing had started.

He turned his body towards hers, taking care not to move too abruptly and then...

“Lady Sansa.”

Stannis felt a jolt go through him when he said her given name for the first time. The feeling was so strange that he had the passing thought that maybe he should have asked her for the permission to use it. Though, just as quickly he corrected his foolishness: she was his wife, it was his right to call her by her name.

There was a moment of silence and then she turned to look at him. She looked slightly bemused, but she said nothing. He also noticed the way her hands fisted the blue skirts of her dress. Realising this would be the extent of her response, Stannis felt his jaw twitch once more, before he forced himself to continue – _it is my duty as the groom_ :

He extended his hand to her and asked, “Would you care to dance?”

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa had been wondering if the marriage would be valid in 1700 years. In the Twentieth Century, Lord Baratheon was long dead and she was _Sansa Tully_ , orphan daughter of Brynden Tully and Lyaella Stark, a first year university student at Aegon University. - There was no ridiculous claim that she was married to one of the lords of a Great House during the Dragon Age.

 

That was when she heard her name being called: “Lady Sansa.”

She automatically turned to the call, her eyes colliding with darker blue ones. At the clash, Sansa could not help but grip her dress slightly: did he have to always look so... _angry_?

So caught in his stare, Sansa nearly missed his question as well as the proffered hand.

 _He wants to dance_?

Looking down at his large hand extending to her in invitation, she found the action and thought oddly reassuring.

Sansa was not a spiteful person, nor was she stupid. Even though she did not like this situation, she was once more reminded that this was her new life now. She was trapped here, in the Dragon Age. It would be foolish of her to ignore this gesture of goodwill. She needed to try to make the best of the situation. It was up to her to make the most of the hand she had been dealt. This life would be a lot harder if she did not at least _try_.

 

She gathered her strength and managed to give him a small smile as she replied: “Yes. Thank you.”

 

**. . .**

 

His bride was somewhat stiff, positioned next to him, her right hand placed above his own left one. Whether it was due to her current disposition, or that she was concentrating on her footing as her dancing skills were somewhat lacking, Stannis was not sure. Whilst a part of him hoped it was the later, he instead focused on the fact that she _had_ accepted his hand – his _touch_ \- and _had_ agreed to dance with him. This boded well for the future. Soon, she would see the wisdom to be pliant and follow his lead in all matters.

On the other hand, as the silence continued to surround them through the steps and semi-turns, Stannis started to find it strangely maddening. He could not help but wonder if he should break it and say something?...

... Then again, what would he say?

Searching his mind, Stannis soon remembered how Septa Baela had been quite enlightening on _how_ _innocent_ the lady - _his_ lady, _his wife_ \- was to ‘ _marital knowledge_ ’. The septa had spoke of how - from their several talks during - the young bride clearly did not know anything of the ways men and women, even though she was a woman grown, being seven-and-ten.

He mused if, perhaps, he should reassure her for later in the evening. Should he try to appease her virginal worries, and say that he would take care to not hurt her more than necessary - even though there would of course be _some_ pain?... _On the other hand_ , looking to his side at Lady Sansa as they did another step and turn, Stannis took note how pale her cheeks still were, even if her body no longer trembled. - _No_ , _it was best not to mention the bedding now or she might collapse in my arms_.

And thus, he was back to his original predicament: how to break the quietness surrounding them?

 _What had Eddard suggested?_... _“Find something you find pleasing about her and compliment her on it.”_

Once more Stannis found himself with another quandary: what was he suppose to compliment her on? He couldn’t well comment on her dancing skills, when they were left wanting. At least he was sensible enough to know not to mention this to his bride, recognizing it would probably not be a welcomed remark.

 

Fortunately - though rather unexpectedly - before he could find an acceptable topic to comment on, a soft voice spoke first,

“What do you think of the music, Lord Baratheon?”

The question was so unexpectedly and his bride’s voice was still so very soft, for a moment Stannis thought he had imagined it. Yet, he could not ignore the two large eyes looking at him expectantly.

Stannis led her into the next part of the dance: his body slightly behind her own with his left hand holdings hers and his right hand on her waist. Three other couples and themselves turned in a large group before each couple did another rotation. Stannis was tempted to rebuke that it was maybe best if she concentrated on the dance as her ability was not great. However, he held his tongue realising that her question was exactly he wanted: an opening topic of discussion.

The straightforwardness of query had Stannis giving an as direct and honest answer,

“It is agreeable. The songs are your typical ballads and are played with a certain amount of skill.”

Unfortunately, looking over, his answer seemed to confuse his lady slightly, as her lips made a small pout,

“Are you not partial to music, Lord Baratheon?”

With this second question, Stannis realised this was the second time she had called him ‘ _Lord Baratheon’_. They were _married_. He had even called her by her name. Why did she refuse to do the same? Was _she_ waiting for his leave to use his name? - These uncertainty thoughts continued to simmer in his mind as Stannis answered her,

“I am not impartial to a well played tune. Even minstrels have their use: they are paid to entertain and the hall seems agreeable to them.”

There was a pause, the dance calling for him to place both hands on her hips and lifting her slightly off the ground. During this time, her brows had come closer together, making her look further perplexed.

Releasing her of the hold and taking her hand once more in his, Stannis could not help but add, thinking this might be the cause to the discussion, “Are they not to your liking, Lady Sansa?”

However the question seemed unexpected, as she blinked her long eyelashes a few times, whilst her cheeks went slightly rosy, “I... no, no: the musicians are very enjoyable... I have never heard any of their songs before but they are lovely. It’s actually nice to hear music again; – I hadn’t realised how much I missed it till now.”

It was now Stannis turn to frown in confusion, “Did you not have music at the motherhouse?” - _She has quite a pleasing voice, surely it had been encouraged?_

“Oh... I... we did have music. Just... we did not have those songs.”

“Is there a particular song you prefer, my lady? The musicians would be more than accommodating to play them for you.”

Her long eyelashes fluttered once more at the suggestion. She gave him a shy smile, eliciting an odd feeling to run through Stannis.

“That is kind of you to offer, but I do not think they would know my favourites.”

Remembering her own singing from the night of his return, he decided to enquire, “Would these be the tunes you sing to the youths; the ones from your stories?”

“Oh, no. – I do love those songs but my favourites are _song_ – _songs_ ; songs not linked to a particular story. I love to sing and have always loved music. I have some memories of my mother singing to me as a little girl...”

Stannis noticed the small amount of ‘light’ that had animated her face dim once more at the comment, the slight pain as she mentioned her lady mother evident on her face. Clearly wanting to pass over the comment, she quickly added,

“... I could go hours listening to Elton Jon, doing nothing but that... though, I should actually say _Ser_ Elton Jon. He is one of my favourites.”

Any thoughts of her mother disappeared as others much less welcomed ones replaced them, Stannis’ frown turning to a scowl,

“The septas in motherhouse allowed a knight to serenade songs to you at all times of the day? Who was he: a _sweetheart_ perhaps?”

At the probing question, Lady Sansa missed her step. Automatic righting her, Stannis followed her gaze at it went from her the edge of her skirts to looked straight at him, her mouth gaping. Her frown returning, she huffed,

“Do you really think that I am callous enough to mention another man on my wedding day?... I will have you know, Lord Baratheon, that Sir Elton Jon is not only more than twice my age but also prefers _men_ to women.”

It was Stannis’ turn to miss the next step.

Correcting himself, Stannis could feel his neck tinge red as he gave a small cough before stiffly nodding.

 

**. . .**

 

After the hiccup of Lord Baratheon questioning the status of the relationship Sansa may have with _Elton Jon_ (– _seriously, Elton Jon!_ –) the rest of their dance continued mostly in silence.

Although rather grateful that she could concentrate on her steps, Sansa couldn’t help but feel hurt and frustrated at her _husband’s_ obviously did have a not too stellar opinion of her. Along with this was the fact that they had actually _talked_ a few minutes before he had gone and ruined it, _again_.

She had actually been slight touched that he had offered to dance, and having not commented on her very much beginner-level Dragon Age dancing skills (- _clearly, Ser Brynden has to give me a few more dancing lessons_ ). Even their discussion had been somewhat of positive till then: Lord Baratheon had actually shared some of his thoughts and opinions on a particular topic with her and had even proposed the musicians play one of Sansa’s favourite songs. - Was this what she had to look forward to: all conversations turning sour after a few moments, by him accusing her of something or ordering her around?

 

When the song finally ended, Lord Baratheon gave Sansa a sniff bow, before all too quickly the King’s emissary requested her hand.

The music and dancing continued: once Sansa finished with the royal escort, she danced with Edmure, who seemed just as talented in the steps as Sansa. Then was Renly, who more than shared his joy that Sansa was his new good-sister, even with a side comment that he definitely preferred her to her older sister (- clearly the wine having gotten to him by then). Ser Arstan Selmy followed, then Ser Lomas Estermont - Lord Baratheon’s uncle and Andrew’s father.

Sansa was about to try and find a seat somewhere, to rest her feet, or possibly look for Ser Eddard (- who seemed strangely absent the few times she looked around the room -) when her ‘ _uncle_ ’ solicited her for the next dance.

Ser Brynden took the lead, knowing Sansa only knew the basic steps. They did the first steps, the first turn before he commented, “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Sansa.”

She couldn’t help but huff slightly in return her eyes meeting his, “I have always liked dancing and music. Why should I not enjoy them?”

He gave her small smile in return, “You also seemed agreeable to the company, my lady?”

They turned, to face the other end of the Hall.

Refusing to make his task easy - eventhough she knew she was acting like a child - Sansa only replied, “Edmure and Renly are easy to like. Ser Arstan Selmy was quite pleasant and witty. Ser Lomas Estermont was a proficient dancer. He was courteous enough to not comment when I accidentally turned right instead of left. I assume he was relieved I was not so bad as to step on his toes.”

 

They continued through the dance in silence.

However, as the song became more sedated, her ‘ _happiness’_ as to the marriage and her groom clearly not lost on him, Ser Brynden murmured comfortingly to her,

“Lord Baratheon is a just, loyal and decent lord. He will be a good husband to you, Sansa.”

Sansa gave Ser Brynden a sharp glare, but stayed silent for several more steps. There was a sequence of semi-turns and full rotations, another switching of sides and hands and then the dancers were facing towards the high table once more.

From their end of the hall Sansa looked pointedly at Lord Baratheon whilst her _lord husband_ seemed to be scowling from the high table at several of his men being a little _too_ joyous in their drunken merriment. (- To be fair, a few _were_ already groping and fumbling the curves and dresses of certain of the women.)

“Yes, I am sure he is a _fine_ man: _just_ , _loyal_ , _decent_ and all... especially when accusing his bride of having loose morals as well as telling me quite bluntly I am his _property_.” – _He didn’t actually say the second bit today, but he has stated it... and it was basically the whole of the vows_...

 

The song changed before Ser Brynden could reply. Sansa slowly came to a stop, whilst rather brusquely releasing the man’s hand.

Looking over to the musicians and singers, she unfortunately only heard to the first few lines of this new song about a bear and a maiden when Sansa heard someone drunkenly bellow:

“BED _-ding_!!”

The cry slurred, and Sansa’s own mind jumbled from her talk with Ser Brynden, it wasn’t until a second larger thunder – " _BEDDING_!" - from several other men, that she registered what was happening... or _about_ to happen...

 

Dread coursing through her veins, Sansa's hand reached and grabbed Ser Brynden as she moved closer to him for protection.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes
> 
> * - Inspired by: ‘ _Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage. … He glanced at Queen Selyse. There must have been a blizzard the day she and Stannis wed._ ’ - Jon Snow, _Dance with Dragons_
> 
> =
> 
> For those interested, for this chapter I mainly focused on Sansa’s wedding to _Tyrion_ as inspiration (part of me still refuses the whole Ramsay wedding as it is not in the books... and I was generally not a huge fan of the last two seasons). I did look over two wedding scenes from the show:
> 
> \- The wedding ceremony, Sansa – Tyrion wedding: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmYtWya-iNM>
> 
> \- The wedding ceremony, Edmure – Roslin wedding (- not the bloody part afterwards): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNSw5KsSwRk>
> 
> For the dancing I have pictured dancing similar to that in the Tudors: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MSBiO-RB1g>
> 
> =
> 
> For her dress I was imagining something like this (apologise for the not-so-great colouring):
> 
> [](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/shortsandramblings/media/TIME%20wedding%20dress%202_zpsa12vej8k.jpg.html)
> 
> -
> 
> For her hair dress, I was picturing something like this:
> 
> [](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/shortsandramblings/media/sophisticated-diy-low-twisted-bridal-hair-updo-1-500x672_zps8bojkjsr.jpg.html)
> 
> -


	18. PART I, Chapter 17 – Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... has a Westerosi wedding ever gone to plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oki: this is obviously quite a key chapter / turning point chapter => it has definitely been a headache chapter to write and I really hope you guys like it (even if maybe a few you might not fully agree with)
> 
> two things to remember:  
> 1- Sansa is a modern, eighteen year old girl, whose only boyfriend so far had been Joffrey Lannister, that is now stuck possibly forever in the Dragon Age (... and all the things that go withal that)
> 
> 2- Stannis is a 25 year old man (who hasnt had any sex for a while) is a Lord who used to getting more or less what he decrees, is emotionally stunted, doesn't understand women all that well, his fiancée left him for another guy, and his first wife tried to kill him but instead killed herself and the baby that he thought was his but actually wasn't (...and all the things that go with all that)
> 
> Thank you to Sarah_Black and DolphinRider for your help and suggestions for this chapter
> 
> Really hope you guys like!!

 

 

Stannis had been surveying the feast hall – trying to not let his temper flare at the several scenes of indecency happening all around – searching for the sombre form of his northern friend – and frustratingly _not_ finding him - when he heard the first notes of ‘ _The Bear and the Fair Maiden’_. Barely the words ‘ _A bear there was..._ ’ were spoken, Stannis knew what was about to occur.

Even before the first call for the bedding was made, his eyes swiftly sought his bride. – Not that Lady Sansa had ever been far from his gaze or thoughts; Stannis had followed her form as she had danced with the royal delegate, her brother, his brother, and two of his knights and now her uncle.

He let out a small groan. - _Just as I feared_...

The fear that had been so very palpable in the Sept had returned tenfold. The Tully maiden clung to her uncle as if he were her only salvation.

 

The custom was abhorrent and pointless. Its only purpose was to cause the bride and bridegroom discomfort, make their guests lose whatever sense of decency and decorum they still possessed, and give into lust and depravity instead.

A great part of Stannis was very much tempted to stand before all and declare that there would be no bedding. – He had suggested the idea briefly during one of his conversations with Ser Brynden Tully about his niece, and he had even rethought the proposal over, earlier, whilst eating. None could deny that Stannis was a lord ruled by duty... and his bride _was_ very comely. It would be hard to find any who would believe Stannis would not consummate the marriage, even if there was no bedding ceremony.

However, as the Tully knight had pointed out, there could be no question as to the validity of the union. Whilst in the capital, Ser Brynden had heard many rumours. One of which had been the slight hint that King Aerys would not give Stannis leave to wed another one of the Tully daughters. The risk was too great that the king would suggest another union for Stannis. Nor could Stannis show any possible sign of weakness, or create any more interest and speculation about himself. He was about to enter the pit of vipers that was the capital. Refusing a bedding ceremony so soon before his departure would only invite more speculation.

_No_ \- There could be no doubts cast on his character or his marriage. With the royal escort and his delegation present, there would be no breaking from traditions, no matter how reprehensible and dated they were.

At least they were not marrying in King’s Landing. He had heard of the rumours of how out of control some feasts had been in the capital, especially at the king’s encouragement. - Even for the wedding of his ‘ _friend’_ Lord Tywin Lannister, many years ago, it was said that King Aerys had drunkenly japed about how it was a pity the _First Night_ tradition was banned, and that he had taken certain ‘ _unwonted liberties_ ’ with the Lannister bride during the bedding ritual.

He also could not be more thankful that his bride’s brother and niece were abed already...

And it was with a certain level of relief that, before any of the lechers could reach Lady Sansa and get their paws on _his_ bride, Stannis’ eyes followed Ser Brynden scoop his niece in his arms and move rather purposefully towards the stairs leading to the higher floors and bedchambers, with the men trying to keep up behind them.

 

Unfortunately, therein lay _Stannis_ fatal mistake. With all his focus on his bride, he had missed the swarm of skirts coming towards him, and all too soon he was surrounded excessively energetic giggling wenches.

_\- By the Seven Gods_!

 

**. . .**

 

Her slippers went first...

Sansa wasn’t even sure if they fell by their own accord or if they had been taken from her feet...

The lace covering her skirts and arms were next...

... _snatching_... _ripping_...

Then there was the actual silks and cloth of the gown...

... _jerking,... tugging,... tearing,_...

 

Her eyes shut closed, her face pressed against Ser Brynden’s chest, Sansa refused to look as several men surrounded her Tully ancestor and herself, and tore her gown to shreds. She was feeling so overwhelmed that part of her could only focus on the fact that it was a true crime to let these barbarians ruin such a gorgeous dress. - Unfortunately, no matter how much her mind buzzed, her eyelids pressed together, her teeth clenched together, her throat whimpered, her other senses still worked nauseatingly well.

She could sense and hear the continual tearing of fabric...

She could feel the cool air of the hall against uncovered arms and shoulders, goose bumps forming on her pale skin...

She could smell not only the male scent of Bryden’s jerkin but the stench of liquor emanating from the men surrounding them....

She could make out her _uncle_ ’s voice trying to reassure her, mixed in with the laughs and jeers of the men...

 

Someone tugged at the corset... – _Gods! They are already at that part of the dress_?

... And then there was a cry of indignation. Sansa could only assume that they had now reached her ‘ _chastity belt_ ’. The grabbing of her legs as well as more disappointed groans only confirmed this further mere moments later.

 

Thankfully the laces of her corset had only been loosened, only the upper curve of her breasts could feel the cool breeze when Sansa heard the telltale scrapping of a heavy wooden door against stone.

Then suddenly, Brynden’s voice boomed above the rowdy assembly, “Alright.... You’ve had your fun, lads. Scamper off, the lot of you! It’s now time to leave Lady Baratheon to her husband.”

Body still curled as much as possible towards his chest, Sansa barely heard one of the men mumble something about ‘ _not getting to touch or even see the maiden's hair or honey_ ’. The response was much closer though, from another scoffing loudly, “The Mother, the Maiden and the Crone would cover themselves in pus from the rivers of the Seven Hells to keep you from touching a single hair on their body!”

“Ha! Many women have let me touch all the hairs of their body and have found it quite pleasing!”

Ser Bryden retorted this time, his voice even sharper, “You best leave before Lord Baratheon hears you or finds to you _pleasing_ _his_ wife.”

The threat of the all powerful lord of the castle seemed to have done the trick. The laughter, barbs and lewd comments seemed to dim before completely disappearing with the rest of the keep.

Yet Sansa still clutched to her _uncle_ refusing to separate herself from the only protection she had or even open her eyes to see what was happening now. She discerned Ser Brynden taking a step and then another, before Sansa felt her body being placed on a soft cushioned surface – the _bed_.

There was a slight hitch in her throat before the Dragon Age knight whispered in her ear, “T’is done, Sansa... we are in the chambers now.”

She wanted to yell back that it was _not_ done, that the worst was yet to come. She still had to survive the rest of the night her alone with a man... her _husband_...

... But instead, her throat only gave the smallest of whimpers before she let herself be disentangled from her ancestor.

A moment later, Sansa felt a large hand be placed delicately on her brow, trying to soothe her. She slowly opened her eyes to find Ser Brynden looking at her, his face full of concern. When his blue eyes met her own blue and grey ones, he gave her a faint smile as he continued to stroke her hair softly,

“Are you alright?... They did not hurt you, did they?”

Even though his actions and words were supposed to be comforting, Sansa couldn’t help but want to yell at him, ask him how she could possibly be _alright_? But none of her potential responses would change anything. Right now she just wanted to be left alone, if only for a few minutes. So instead, she slowly shook her head, her voice only a whisper, “No... I am not hurt... was just scared more than anything else...”

Her voice a little stronger, she forced her gaze to meet his more directly, as she gave him a strained smile, “I will be fine Ser... As you said, Lord Baratheon will be here soon with the ladies. It is best not let them arrive with me alone with another man both of us on or next to the bed...”

He looked straight at her for a long moment, as if wanting to add something, but ultimately only let out a long sigh and gave her a small nod, before straightening. He smiled sympathetically at her a second time, before giving Sansa a final bow and departing through the door.

 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Sansa quickly fixed the corset so her breast didn’t seem about to fall out any more. The task done, she tried to distract herself from the fact that she was only wearing her jeans and a slightly damaged Dragon Age undergarment by looking around the room. It looked well decorated; a few tapestries adorned the walls and handsome furniture stood here and there. The hearth had been lit, and a great many candles were flickering in every corner of the chamber. She recognised a few items as hers from her previous bedroom, only confirming further that these were her new chambers now – the chambers of the lady of the castle.

Her eyes moved frantically until she found a robe draped across a divan. Without further ado, she jumped from the bed and ran to grab it, covering herself with it, protecting herself from the slight chill of the room.

 

Not a minute later the chamber doors opened once more.

Sansa swerved round to witness several women laughing like a pack of hyenas as they circled round what they seemed to believe was a rather tasty piece of meat... To Sansa it seemed more like a rather exasperated Lord Baratheon. - He actually gave out a low growl at a rather hand-sy woman who had gone near his crotch area.

There were a few more barks and snarls mixed within the chuckling before the ladies conceded and retired from the room. And then there was the sound of the heavy ironwood door shutting with a soft thud behind them. As if the noise had been a deafening slam, it echoed within her as Sansa processed the reality that there was only the two of them inside the room.

There was a stillness to the room; a silence in which Sansa couldn’t help but continue the study of the scene that had been in front of her moments ago. Now, with no one surrounding him or blocking her view of him, Lord Baratheon seemed even _larger_ and more _daunting_ than ever before.

His doublet was gone. The same could be said for most of his white shirt, for that matter. One of its sleeves was completely missing, the other not much better, and there was a great big tear down the middle revealing that he was wearing nothing underneath. His heaving chest was actually marked with a few red marks (– _scratches from the ladies_?). He had visibly also lost his boots... and the laces to his breeches looked to have been loosened, quite _ferociously_ , but – similarly to Sansa’s jeans - the women had obviously not been able to go so far as to remove them. Even his short jet black, clearly ruffled hair, had not been spared.

He was mumbling – _more like grumbling_ \- to himself, words Sansa could not distinguish, as his eyes looked over his torn shirt and marks on his person.

 

Then suddenly – most likely having sensed her gaze on him - he turned sharply right, to face Sansa head-on.

His eyes bored into hers, their colour as beautiful as they were unsettling, a storm raging in their depths. Feeling his gaze piercing into her, Sansa felt her knees about to buck from under her as she quickly realised that she had probably been studying him for a good minute, and just as swiftly averted her eyes from him, suddenly finding the stone floor fascinating.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin pricked though Sansa knew it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, and her hands were clasped very tightly...

... She was alone in her bedroom with a _man_... not just any man, her _husband_. Nothing could be more grown up. And yet Sansa had never felt more like a frightened little girl.

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis had been taking stock of the damage done to his clothes and his person when the back of his neck prickled, his body becoming aware of the other presence in the room.

His eyes flickered from his shirt that was damaged beyond repair up to the bed. His brow twitched, Stannis noted with surprise and confusion that it was empty: his bride was not in it. Instead, he turned swiftly to find her standing near the other end of the room.

Their eyes had met for the briefest of moments, hers wide and clearly overwhelmed before she had dropped her gaze to her bare feet.

She definitely seemed shaken. Most of her auburn hair had come out of the bun it had been previously styled in for the day, and was now falling on either side of her face. As for her profile, it was still rather pale. His fist clenched to his sides, imagining all the men pawing over her delicate body, grabbing at any possible fleck of her porcelain skin. Stannis was relieved to note that she did not seem to be shaking (– _not yet, at least_ ). He could only hope that they had not been too inappropriate and rough with her... _Although_ , it had seemed that her uncle had been ready to protect her from the most of it.

Yet, trying to ignore her troubled stance, Stannis’ gaze travelled the length of Lady Sansa, noting – _rather disappointingly_ \- that most of her body was covered either by a robe or by one of her unusual chastity belts. His previous grimace of irritation at the bedding ritual turned to a confused frown. – _Does she not realise what is about to happen_?... That she undoubtedly needed to take the items of clothing off for things to proceed and them to do their duty and consummate their vows and further certify the union of their two Houses.

There was a pause, a soft ragged breath escaping her lips... And then another.... Though her gaze was fixed on the floor, seemingly unaware or unconcerned with his presence, she looked so similar to a small fawn, ready to scamper away at the first sign of danger.

Stannis wondered on how to proceed.

For the wedding with Lysa, he remembered being anxious for his bride as for himself. Both of them been inexperienced (– or at least that was what he had thought at the time, now he was less certain -) as well as having been promised to others only a few moon turns before. Of course that had been when they had both arrived at the bridal chamber at same time, in only their small clothes, to find their bed already occupied by his brother and her cousin. After the inopportune incident, Stannis had still been too furious with Robert to be any more nervous about the actual bedding. He had at least had some reason and sense left to make sure not to bring his fury out on his bride.

... This time, he had the advantage that he was an unseasoned lad no longer. At least that, if nothing else, was something he gained from his first marriage... and Robert was not here to ruin another wedding.

... So why did he still feel so out of sorts?

 

**. . .**

 

The long silence stretched on.

It was his time to study her. As his eyes travelled over her whole body, Sansa felt her skin prickle beneath the silk robe, as if branded as his possession.

\- Could he see the terror pounding through her?

Sudden movements of shadows playing on the stone made her look through her lashes to see Lord Baratheon concluding the removal of his shirt and thrusting its remains onto the floor. The muscles of his chest and forearms flexed under the glow of the candles, Sansa even noticed a few small clearly now healed old scars, before her eyes quickly flicked once more back down to the floor.

_Why does he have to be so tall?... and large?... and big?_... _and muscly?... and large?_...

 

A long heavy sigh filled the room.

She could feel his gaze having returned to her, scrutinizing. And then, Sansa felt him take a step towards her, coming closer, she heard the soft sound of the pads of his feet against the stone.

With no true volition of her own, Sansa took an automatic step back, a shallow breath escaping her. She clamped her eyes shut, tears pressing against her eyelids. – _It’s too soon... too fast... we don’t know each other at_ all...

There was slightly more shuffling...

_Don’t_... _Please don’t_...

Her shallow breaths continued, before, at long last, his deep voice broke the silence, proclaiming,

“We should move to the bed, my lady.”

Trying to ignore the tight knot that formed in her throat, her voice sounded hollow, even to herself, as she whispered, “Please... please m-my lord...” then almost inaudible, “ _please_... n-not tonight.”

There was a pause, Sansa wondering if she had caught him off guard or if he was only wondering how to proceed despite her plea. In her mad, delirious mind, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she fainted? What he would do? Would he take her anyway?... _No_ : - whatever, she thought of the man; he did not seem to be such a monster...

In a shaky voice, she forced herself to add, “... I- I am not saying no f-for later but... it... it’s too soon...”

There was a brief growl, as if it had escaped from his lips involuntarily. His voice was iron - firm and strong, filled with conviction, “We must consummate our vows.”

The pressure of the last few weeks - or even possibly years - crashed down on Sansa. Helplessness, fear, sadness and anger washed over her, her nails sinking in her palms as she clenched her fists tightly. Her voice was hoarser - harsher - though still a whisper, “We _must_ do _nothing_.”

“It is our duty.”

There was that word: _duty_. Sansa growled hearing it. Her anger rising over her fear, she opened her eyes to glare at him, bristling, “You say it is _duty_ , I say it is _rape_.”

The words barely left her mouth, Sansa wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly*. Clearly, he had not anticipated the statement either as he visibly flinched at the accusation, “... _rape_?”

Sansa gave him a tense nod. She didn’t know what else to do.

It wasn’t as if she _wanted_ to be scared out of her mind. Or that she _wanted_ him to force himself on her. But even the fear, of him and what he might do, wasn’t her only reason for her resistance. - Not that he would understand. How could he possible begin to comprehend that she felt like her whole life had been ripped away from her? Her family, her present – _the future_ –, Winterfell, even her parents and the Riverlands, all she had ever known were as far away from her as she could possibly imagine.

But at least she could try and make him understand _this_.

 

His voice choked, obliviously very much affronted, “You think me a brute?... So _lustful_ and _depraved_?...”

Her throat gulped, as she answered honestly, only once more at the floor, “I don't think you a brute or anything else... I don't know you enough to have such an opinion.”

And then all too soon her frustrations and resentment came rushing back, forcing her to face him, huffing,

“What do you expect? Did you truly think I would just let you take me to bed? - We have never done _anything_ ; not even kiss... You _know_ that I am a _virgin_. You assured yourself of it the day I arrived. Yet, despite this knowledge you believe we would go from never even sharing a kiss to me spreading my legs for you?...”

Unfortunately from his frown, it seemed Lord Baratheon did not know what to make of her statement.

“If you are worried about your innocence, I can assure you my lady I will try to be as cautious and mindful of it as possible.”

Sansa gave a soft groan of frustration, trying to find a better way to explain herself to the clearly oblivious Dragon Age man,

“It’s _not_ about being careful as you take my virginity. It’s about the fact that you are planning to _take_ my virginity tonight... It’s... It's as if you asked me to learn how to fight with a sword and, instead of showing me the different moves and blocks and then starting off with a wooden sword, you were forcing me to go straight into fighting against a renowned knight, using a Valyrian steel sword.”

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis did not fully understand what was going on... What exactly she was saying.

He had still been trying to round to the fact that it seemed that once more Lady Sansa – now _his_ lady wife - was unwilling to do her duty. Moreover, it was also more than obvious she didn’t want _him_ as her husband... Did she truly think him a lustful brute? – Others would have been less accommodating, and would have already dragged her down the aisle a day after her arrival, or even as soon as her maidenhood had been confirmed...

... And now, she either wanted to learn how to sword fight - which definitely could not be right; she was a _woman_ \- or she was comparing their _bedding_ to _sword fighting_... With him a ' _renowned knight'_ and his... _well_ , ' _sword'_ a ‘ _Valyrian steel sword’_. His jaw clenched as his breeches spontaneously twitched at the inadvertent compliment.

There was a small pause where Stannis thought over her words. Then, with a small glimmer of hope, he asked, “So... You would like to _kiss_ before we move to the bed?”

The idea actually was not that upsetting. It seemed a rather suitable one, actually.

“Yes - _No_ , I mean _no_... I-it’s _not_ about kissing, or anything physical... _Well_ , yes and no: it is but it isn’t... I want to take it slow. What I am trying to explain is that I want us to get to know each other _more_ , be more comfortable with each other before we move forward... But yes, at some point, I would possibly want to kiss you a-and do other things... _all_ before we sleep together.”

Stannis blinked, his confusion growing (- as well as a certain part of his anatomy -), “ _Other things_? W-what kind of other things?” – _Surely, she is not suggesting... she had planned to be a silent sister; surely she wouldn’t know of things that happened in certain establishments?_

 

**. . .**

 

His face looked so befuddled that Sansa wondered if he was actually being serious.

_– Gods_... _I am definitely not about to give a lesson on_ all _the many things a couple can do together to be intimate, without actually having intercourse, to a twenty something red blooded male_.

In any case, he was obviously clearly missing the point of what she was trying to say.

“N-never mind the other things. What I am trying to say is that we do not know each other well enough to become so intimate with one another!”

 

There was a torturous pause, before he stated the obvious, “There is no need to ‘know each other more’: you are my _wife_ -”

“- _Yes_ , b-“

“- and yet, you deny me what is mine.”

Her whole body jerked. She glared at him.

_Damn_ the Blackfish. _Damn_ the Mad King. _Damn_ the freaking Dragon Age. _Damn_ this man in front of her now.

Through gritted teeth, she growled back, “I cannot _deny_ you something you have no right to take in the first place. None of _my_ body _... none of me_ , belongs to you. It’s _mine_.”

He just as quickly retorted, “What of your vows? ‘I am _his_ ’?

She couldn’t help but bristled back, “Yes, yes... I remember those _damned_ vows: ‘I am _his_ and he is _mine_ ’. _I_ am your wife as much as _you_ are _my_ husband... _You_ put your cloak over me, and promised to protect me... Can you truly call _this_ _protecting_ me?”

His jaw twitched: “What of your family words?”

Sansa blinked, frowning at the change in topic, “M-my family words?... _F-family_... _Duty_... _Honour_.” As she said them, though, understanding as to his intent came. Her eyes narrowing, Sansa added, “I _did_ follow my _family_ guidance, my lord. As I did do my _duty_ when I married you: I stood in front of the septon said vows I did not want to say... let you cloak me under new words... But I _will_ keep my _honour_. As far as I believe, I have done my duty to my family and to you. You have taken those words from me and given me _fury_ instead – but I will keep my _honour_ with your _fury!_ Nor will I willingly let you force yourself on me!”

He jaw tightened further, “I would not be _forcing_ myself on you: you are my _wife_. Your maidenhead is mine by right; it is my right, it _is_ our _duty_.”-

A cry of despair and frustration escaped from her lips, “- _STOP_! Stop calling me a _duty_! I am not a duty; I am a person, not a _duty_ , not _thing_ you can do for a few hours, before placing me somewhere until the next time you have use of me!”

She took a gulp of air, before continuing, her voice rising, “Yes, I am your _wife_ not your _servant_ , not your _dog_ , not some trinket, you admire from afar or up-close, when you feel like it. _No_ , I am your _wife_. And you are my _husband_. _Husband_ : the man who put a cloak over my shoulders and swore a vow to protect me; not to _harm_ me. My husband with whom I am to share the rest of my life with, and raise potential children with... Not some stranger... some... some _brute_ conquering an enemy castle.”-

“- Stop comparing me to a _brute_! I have done nothing to deserve such a label!”

“Then show it! Convince me! Others have incited me to believe that I could come to respect you, even possibly care for you. But, _you_... you are actually the one to diminish any regard I may develop for you. You only give me your scorn of disapproval, repeating words of _duty_ and _possession_. Do you not realise that before today, the last time we were truly in the same room, was when our betrothal was announced. Even then the only thing you commented on was _not_ on how happy you were, or even any word of comfort or support. No, I believe it was something the lines of you couldn’t believe ‘ _it took so long for someone to make me see sense’_ ; making sure to have your continual displeasure known.”

“But I was _displeased_! Displeased that it had taken this long for us to marry! As I am displeased now that it seems to be taking just as long to move to the marital bed!”

“- And I am _displeased_ that you have made no real attempt or given any effort to try to get to know _me_ or tell me about _you_! Even in the last few days, when our betrothal was ‘ _official_ ’ you did not take the time to come meet me once! You know next to _nothing_ about me and I know next to _nothing_ about you! How could you possibly expect me to share myself with you, to _bare_ myself to you, when you are not willing give me a mere moment of your time, talk with me, give a morsel of yourself. By the Gods, we never even had a true conversation!”

“We have _talked_.”

“We have _argued_! – Just as we are doing now!”

But the man was relentless in his defence, “I _talked_ of the music and songs at the wedding feast, during our dance.”

Sansa scoffed, “Accusing me of possible past lovers is not courting me or getting to know me!”

Still not cowering, he challenged, “I found out you liked dogs: I gave you one.”

Her voice rose, the outrage clear, “So, because you gave me a puppy, you feel entitled to my virginity! - I am not a _whore_!”

Through gritted teeth he huffed, “You are not a _whore_ , you are my _wife_!”

“Yes, I _am_. And yet, you barely know a single thing about me. Y-you know nothing about _me. N_ one of my dreams, my aspirations... things I think of... my fears, my likes, my dislikes.”

He blinked, looking at her as if she had grown an extra head. To then run his hands through his hair rough, letting out a long groan. Sansa could even have sworn she heard him grumble ‘ _dreams and aspirations_ ’.

When he lifted his head to face her once more, Lord Baratheon glowered back at Sansa, “Well, I can tell you right now, _my lady_ : _my_ dreams and _aspirations_ are focused on having an _heir_. For _that_ to happen, we need to _move_ to the bed and _consummate_ our vows.”

“Well, even though you still have not bothered to ask, let me tell you:  _here_  is the first thing you should know about  _me_ ,  _my lord_ : I will not cower down and be the ‘ _dutiful lady_ ’ and abandon all my sense of honour and integrity just to let you get on with getting ‘ _your heir_ ’!”

She took a gulp of air, before continuing, “But nor am I saying that we will never share a bed... I just... I... just not _tonight_. Yes, I did say those vows, even though they were forced on me. And I _do_ want to do what is best for this marriage. I had always hoped that if I ever got married it would be a _successful_ marriage; one build on caring, trust, and respect. Now, all I am hoping for is a marriage where neither the wife nor the husband should find themselves hating their spouse... I... I only ask you to wait... to wait for us to know each other better... for me to get use to you and you me, and for us to learn... things... explore things, _together_... L-laying the foundations first before you build a castle, so to speak. If you wait... I will be ever grateful... If you do not, I will hate you for the rest of my life. For if you treat me worse than livestock, I will do the same to you and forever close myself from you...”

Her voice was shaking, her breathing was heavy, her lungs hot, her hands in fists shaking at her sides. Sansa took another slight pause, but she would not let him reply. Instead, her thoughts clearing further, she remembered something – a text from her studies – different but the same: if Lord Baratheon refused to not listen to _her_ he might be persuaded by Shakespeare (- another _man_ ),

“... Have I no _hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?_ Am I not _fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as_ you? _If you prick me, do I not bleed? If you tickle me, do I not laugh? If you poison me, do I not die? And if you wrong me, shall I not revenge? If_ I _am like you in the rest,_ I _will resemble you in that._... _The villainy you teach me I will execute — and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.”_ **

His scowl was firmly in place, as his voice was cold as steel, “Are you threatening me... my lady?” - The ‘ _my lady_ ’ only seemed added as an afterthought.

Sansa forced to stay strong and keep her gaze fixed on his: “No more that you are threatening me, _my lord_.”

His voice was most insistent, “It is no threat when a husband demands from his wife what is rightfully his. – I _am_ your _husband_.”

“Yes, and that makes it all that much worse. – When a stranger rapes a woman it could be considered an attack only on her person – physically as well as emotionally. But for a husband to do it, he does it on _all_ of her. He degrades her on every possible level. He is a man she placed her whole self and trust in, and in return he so violently abuses it; he attacks everything she is, nor doesn’t recognise her as a person... only a _thing_.

Nothing you have done so far incites me to think that you care or respect me or even think of me as a _person_. By the Seven, do you realise that not even a year ago you were married to my _sister_?! And that she was pregnant with your _heir_! Are we so interchangeable? Did you show as much _esteem_ and _admiration_ for her as you give me now? – is that all I have to look forward to?

Tell me Lord Baratheon: had you forced yourself on her, in the name of duty and husbandly rights? There is no point denying it: you and I both know you could easily overpower me. It is obvious that you are much stronger than me... and I am pretty sure my sister would have been just as easy to _subdue_ , all in the name of ‘ _Family, Duty, Honour’_?”

 

At the verbal strike, Lord Baratheon drew himself up before her; tall, big, full of muscle and male strength. Sansa saw his hand move into her peripheral vision. She instinctively flinched, moving her arm in front of her face in anticipation to the blow, as her face turned away and her eyes clamped shut, her throat letting one the smallest of whimpers.

But nothing happened.

She could hear nothing but his harsh breathing with her own gulps, both backdrops to her heart pounding in her ears.

She waited a little longer, before Sansa risked lowering her arm and opening her eyes slightly, taking a quick glimpse.

He was staring at her, his eyes a tempest. His bare chest rose and fell with the heavy breathing.

As soon as their eyes met, he jerked back his hand, as if her stare had burned him.

His shoulders heaving, his hands in large fists, Sansa was still unsure what he would do... he even seemed unsure.

Panic still quivering through her, Sansa’s eyes darted to the door where they had both come from. They then moved to a plainer one, in the far corner – the leading to the lord’s chambers most likely. There was no point in trying to reach either and run through; – he was between her and either exit.

However, before she could think more on anything, Lord Baratheon gave out a furious growl, before swerving round, and hitting the closest wall. The action barely complete he gave another more hollow groan before storming out through the secondary door that she had just been eying moments ago.

As for Sansa, at the sudden brusque sequence of actions, she had let out a fearful gasp taking a large step back, hitting the edge of the chair behind her. By the time she realised what exactly had happened he was already gone, the door shut behind him. The only traces he left behind were the torn shirt and a slight mark against the wall he had hit.

 

There was a long wait, some of the candles having lost their flames, before Sansa felt it safe as well as herself calm enough to move. Slowly, her gaze continually going to the side door he had left from, she approached the bed.

Once she reached its edge, she looked once more at the door, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did for several more minutes, Sansa perched herself on the edge of the mattress.

Another pause, another wait, before she finally let herself lay down on the edge of the mattress, turning on her side, pulling the covers up to her chin. Once satisfied that her whole body was covered, Sansa drew her legs up against her chest, in a foetal position, making herself as small as possible. Her eyes fixed on the door; Sansa couldn’t help but feel a small shake run down her body, wondering if it would suddenly burst open and Lord Baratheon would charge in once more.

 

It took a long time, but finally, with all the events and nerves of the day, she fell into a deep slumber... but at no point did the door reopen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Quote inspired from: Sansa Stark - “ _She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.”_
> 
> ** - Shylock, _The Merchant of Venice_ – Act 3, Scene1. William Shakespeare (- > couldn’t resist: really like this text for Shakespeare + let’s be honest: he does have a way with words that us mere mortals could only dream of.)


	19. PART I, Chapter 18 – An Uncertain Amount of Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after... the day before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay for this chapter (and thank you for your patience) - it is another rather long chapter though - hope you like :)
> 
> Some readers might think there is a small out-of-character moment in the last scene of the chapter – to which I give a small apology for , but I really couldn’t resist but don’t worry though, it’s nothing major that changes to whole of the plot or something...
> 
> Once more, thank you Sarah_Black and DolphinRider in helping me out with certain parts of the chapter :)

 

 

She was dreaming of a large black beast flying through a cold grey sky, under which was a castle covered in snow... The creature let out a long cry before breathing out a flurry of flames; - a _dragon_.

The dragon circled the castle once more before looking straight at her and howling...

... _something_...

 

“ _My lady ... my lady...”_

 

Sansa frowned. _That can’t be right._

 

“ _My lady... Lady Sansa... L-lady Baratheon_...”

At the last call – at the use of _that_ name - Sansa felt a jolt run through her, sleep promptly leaving her. Blinking her eyelids fast and furiously, Sansa opened them to find Mary looking down at her from the side of the bed. The other woman’s face was so close to her own that Sansa automatically shifted backwards, as Mary gave her a compassionate, concerned smile. But Sansa didn’t meet her eys for long. In the next moment, she broke their connection, focusing instead on lifting her body into a sitting position on the bed and gazing around her new bedroom as the whole of yesterday’s events came back to her...

She was definitely awake, now.

She was also _married_ , now.

Her eyes landed on the side door, her fingers twitched slightly grasping the sheets, her lips became numb, and her scar and back tingled. Then the memories of the previous evening re-emerged from the back of her mind. Her throat hitched and her stomach dropped, remembering of all the things _she_ had said... he – _her husband_ \- had said... all that had transpired... -

“- _Lady Sansa_.”

Sansa’s head quickly turned back to face Mary once more.

By the look on her face, the maid seemed to have repeated herself a few times, trying to get Sansa’s attention for a while. However, Sansa only stared back at her, yet able to say anything. Instead she waited for Mary to speak, now that she had Sansa’s attention. From the faint anxiety of her face, clearly she _did_ have something on her mind.

“Septa Baela will be here shortly with Sara and Laura* to attend to you. They will be bringing you your morning meal, a bath... a-and they will make sure you are...” There was a hitch in her throat, her cheeks blushed slightly, “... that you are not in too much pain...”

 _Pain_. - Was that the first thing one thought of in link with a Dragon Age wedding?... Forever the anticipated outcome?...

Sansa looked down at her lap, hoping none of her thoughts could be read on her face. Though by the warmth she felt rising up her neck and her cheeks, she doubted that she could hide her embarrassment... as for the rest of her-

“ _-There_... there is no pain is there?”

Sansa felt her body flinch at the enquiry. Her head snapped back up, her eyes widening as her face lost all the blood that had been filing her cheeks only moments ago. Truly, it had not sounded like a question more and statement; one that her face had just now all together confirmed. Her throat tightened, but Sansa _had_ to ask,

“ _How_... how did you know?”

Mary’s shoulders drooped as she sighed, her lips twitching in a stretched smile, “I didn’t... I didn’t think it possible till Maester Cressen called me in early into his solar this morn and instructed me to come see your ladyship... to make certin to arrive before the others... then I saw you, my lady, and asked...” there was a slight pause, before she added “... he told me that none can know: my lady – _no one_ can know.”

Stare and voice pleading to the other woman, Sansa whispered, “W-what can I... should I do?”

It seemed like the other woman had been waiting for this precise moment. Without so much as a ‘ _how-do-you-do_ ’, Mary pulled the covers from over Sansa’s lap – earning a high pitched yelp from Sansa. Ignoring any noise of indignation, Mary uncorked a small bottle that was in her hand and quickly poured quite a few drops of a dark reddish liquid onto the mattress; - earning another squeal of disapproval from Sansa’s lips as she just as quickly tried to shift out the way, trying to get none of it on her or her clothes.

Mouth opening and closing slowly – no words coming to her - eyes large, eyebrows raised, Sansa looked between the stain and Mary. Her maid stated ‘ _pig’s blood_ ’ as only explanation before basically _ordering_ Sansa to quickly remove her ‘ _chastity breeches’_ and putting on one of the itchy Dragon Age shifts instead, before the others’ arrival...

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis swung his sword in a wide arc and sent Ser Richard Horpe‘s shield flying through the air.

The knight had been the third opponent he dispatched so far this morning. Nevertheless, feeling still as restless as he had felt during his first sparring, Stannis spun round, seeking his next opponent. Yet, all the men he could see all stood warily, at a distance. None seemed willing to step up to challenge their lord. Their initial possible looks of surprise to seeing him so early in the yard, the day after his _wedding_ , seemed to now having shifted to skepticism and caution.

 _Ha! His wedding_!

His chest still heaving, Stannis grumbled to himself, suppressing any thoughts of the previous day or its wretched evening. – _No_ , instead he concentrated on his training and his men. Unfortunately, it did not seem promising as someone had yet to take the space facing him. - Did he not have _one_ knight with a speck of bravery?

It was only after letting one or two choice words huff under his breath did Stannis finally notice Eddard appearing from across the training yard, heading directly for him, a sword in his hand. Once close enough, the northerner flipped his blade, his stance going on the ready, without the man saying a single word, only showing his own eagerness for the first hit.

Looking over his new challenger, Stannis couldn’t help but note that Stark seemed somewhat out of sorts. It seemed that the events of the previous evening had not been _satisfactory_ for his friend either.

His mind once more reverting back to his own night – any further thoughts on Eddard’s own possible demons forgotten - Stannis lunged forwards, his sword swinging. Stark easily circumvented the thrust, deflecting it with his own blade, whilst moving the rest of his body out of the way.

The clang of metal rang out over the training yard. In a matter of moments, an excited murmur rose, as it rapidly became apparent to them and others that neither Eddard nor himself had any interest into a simple sparring match. His jaw clenching, Stannis welcomed the notion. There was also the added satisfaction that Stark was one of the few with enough experience and muscle, still being in his prime, to truly have a chance to try to and beat him. Eyes still focused on his adversary, Stannis could note, from the corner of his eye, that several more men had moved to form a circle around the two of them. Some had even stopped their own training to observe the fight. Others clearly also seemed interested.

With a savage sound, Stannis threw himself into the battle, a deep need for satisfaction ruling him. As for Eddard, his jaw was set in a line so tight that it bulged with every thrust of his sword. Whatever was fueling the northerner, it matched Stannis’ own frustrations. The two men became snarling extensions of their swords. The encounter was now a battle, a symphony of clashing steel and loud grunts.

Stannis’ sword clashed with Eddard’s yet again. His face red and damp, Stark parried the thrust, with a great accompanying growl, managing to shove Stannis off. Unfortunately for his friend, Stannis had trained with him for most of their youth, and knew most of his movements as well as the man’s style... and thus, with the movement, his whole weight being involved, the man only ended up falling forward.

Eddard’s face went from exultant to irate in a matter of seconds, as he realized Stannis had moved on purpose. Stannis only huffed out a small breath of triumph at the northerner’s wild expression.

From the sidelines, he heard Arstan Selmy cry out, “ _Come on_ , Stark, fight harder. Defeat him!”

Encouraged by the words, though breathing heavily, Eddard ran to Stannis, the fight taking up once more; swords clashing, metal sliding, muscles straining.

The swords collided for several more hits before Stannis was finally able to glide his sword around Stark’s, steel scraping against steel, disarming the man. Stannis kicked the northerner’s feet out from under him, and set the tip of his sword against the man’s throat. Breathing hard, Eddard pounded the dirt with a fist... gulping a few quick breaths, he finally gave an amused huff, his lips even quirking slightly.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I admire your skill with a sword, Lord Baratheon?”

Stannis let out a huff, followed by another longer breath of air, before he moved the blade fully away and retreated himself from the space.

 

As soon as he turned, Stannis noticed a flash of red shinning in the sun light. However, as soon as the jolt hit him, he realised it belonged to the wrong person; - no it was _Ser Brynden_ _Tully_ in the near distance, looking to him and Eddard, standing not too far from some of the king’s retinue and – rather strangely - Maester Cressen, all most likely having been present during the scuffle.

 

Still trying to regulate his heavy breathing, Stannis turned away from all gazes and left the training grounds all together, recognising that he should not strain himself any more or he might actually do something very foolish and even possibly injure himself gravelly. Instead he headed for the outer castle walls, passed the outer gates, and headed towards a nearby stream. The need to wash off some the crass from his face and body was only growing. Perhaps he would be able to wash some of his internal torment as well.

Without further ado, he dunked his whole head into the water, letting it soak his head, hair and neck. It was only once he raised his head, a long pause under water, that Stannis realised another was by his side. - Eddard had followed him and was in the midst of copying him.

Both still slightly panting, water dripping from their face and hair onto their training jerkins, the two men moved back onto the bank. All too soon, fatigue filling him, Stannis sat on the damp dirt beneath his feet; his legs bent, his arms resting above them. A long silence stretched around them, only the sound of the leaves rustling from the surrounding trees and chirps from the wildlife.

 

Throat raw and tight, head bent slightly forward, his gaze focused out to the open landscape stretched in front of them. And then, head sinking further between his knees, eyes going down to his feet, Stannis was unable to look over at his friend as he finally stated, “She refused me last night... she refused to do her _duty_...”

Unlike others might have done – Robert would definitely have done – Stannis heard no sound of laughter, no mocking from Eddard. In its place, the statement was met with a further prolonged silence. Stannis could only assume that his northern friend went over Stannis’ confession as well as his own thoughts, before he finally answered, “Are you truly that surprised by her response?”

At the question, Stannis’ head jerked up to gape at Eddard, his face blank. His face very much sombre, Eddard pushed forward, “She was... she never was very _enthusiastic_ about this union from the start; - to the idea of marriage. She has only ever aspired to becoming a silent sister. Ever since she was a young child she thought _that_ would be her future. Even when arriving here, she held on to this expectation – maybe foolishly – but it has been the only world, only life, she truly knows. It was only once her uncle’s arrival that she was willing to accept this new path.”

Stannis didn’t bother stopping the growl in his throat, “She _accused_ me of being a _raping brute_.”

There a hitch – a moment where all you could hear was the water running in front of them – as Eddard stared incredulously at Stannis. And then it passed, his friend’s face shifting and he guessed, “That’s not _all_ she said, was it, Stannis?”

Scowl still firm, jaw tightening; Stannis could not ignore a tinge spreading along the back of his neck. His breathing slowing, his mind acknowledged that Lady Sansa _had_ said more than just accusing him of such a lack of honour. Voice tight, he confirmed, “She said other things.”

Eddard pressed, “What did Lady Sansa say exactly?”

“That – we did not _have to_ do our duty; that we should not do duty this night.”

“And did she give a reason for such a statement?”

His teeth tightened as more came out, “She... she stated the fact that we did not know each other well enough.”

“So a most likely very much fearful maiden - who thought she would never marry - stood in the bridal suite and asked her lord husband that he treat her some level of understanding and patience.”

“I _did_ treat her with care and understanding! I tried to reassure her that I would take care... when... _when_... But it did not matter! No matter what I said, she refused to see reason! - I tried to bring her round - _explain_ \- _remind_ her that she _had_ said her vows – that she was now tied to _me,_ her _husband_. I even reminded her of her family words, but she only continued to insist that I would be forcing myself on her if...” His throat tightened, “... kept repeating that I had only ever treated her no better than an object... a _whore_... insisting that I knew nothing about her, nor did I care to know her... our lack of familiarity and esteem for each other of one was the great hindrance to us doing our duty.”

“A-and did you?”

“No, I bloody well did not! Not when she was accusing me to the Whole of the Seven that I was a callous raper!”

Closed his eyes, fingers to his temple, Eddard appeared as if ready to lose his patience (– well Stannis was holding by a thread to his!): “No, not the ... _consummation_. - Did you try to speak with her... try to truly _talk_ to her, as she suggested?...”

The question was only met with silence, Stannis unable to reply. But it seemed that Eddard figured it out by himself, “You didn’t.”

Voice hollow, Stannis looked at the dirt between his boots, as he revealed the rest, “... she mentioned _Lysa_... accused me of having _forced_ myself - _subdued_ \- Lysa... Thoughts turning to _that_ woman, my temper only rose... and then she flinched, thinking I _was_ going to strike her o-or possibly more... I left her chambers before I did something I knew I would regret... before I became the monster she accused me of being.”

 

Without looking, Stannis could feel his friend’s own head slackening forward and down; his whole body waning just like Stannis’. And then, Eddard queried, “What do you plan on doing now?”

“I am still uncertain.” – Truth be told, the whole of his mind and body had been in a certain state of uncertain flux ever since storming out of Lady Sansa’s chambers.

“Well. I... - and do not take this the wrong way Stannis - but, I would take this opportunity to reassess _all_ of what _you_ truly expect from this marriage. Stannis, you should be take advantage that she is not like her sister... and hope that this marriage will be a different from the last as much as possible. Perhaps you should see this... _unusual_ start as a first step to having a more successful second one. Even the fact that she held her ground and refused you; - would you not rather she have let you know her thoughts - her mind - than go by quietly and act on all of them, when they are so stacked that they can only burst? She is brave – has spirit – not many would found the courage to tell you the truth of their thoughts.”

Without thinking, Stannis stated, “She makes me think of your sister.” – Truly the statement was not a compliment, but Stannis just as quickly tensed slightly, not knowing how Eddard would react.

However, the man only scoffed, his head sacking, “No, Stannis. Not like Lyanna. You never truly knew Lyanna; she was much more wilful. Once she had an idea, there was no changing her mind. Lady Sansa is more ready to listen, to be rational, to compromise.”

Stannis could only gawk at him incredulously, “Compromise... rational... _listen_!”

Eddard stared right back, challenging him, “More so than you, Stannis. From her first day here, she suggested you try and court her; - mayhaps, that be the place to start.”

 

**. . .**

 

Just as Mary had predicted, food, drink and a warm bath had been brought. Of course, Sansa had also been privy to Septa Baela inspecting the sheets and _reassuring_ her, in a low voice, “ _do not worry; it will not always hurt so_ ”, whilst the other women pretended they were not listening in. Her cheeks flame bright red, Sansa just tried to focus on the relief that the state of her marriage was not being questioned; – at least by the _staff_.

Wanting to leave the chambers – and possibly also wanting to escape any more _‘sex talk’_ with the old septa, whilst the others prepared her possessions for the journey while _‘not’_ eavesdropping – as promptly as possible, Sansa had swiftly instructed the maids to help her into one of her simpler blue gowns, before going into the castle to find the children.

Alas, upon learning that the boys were apparently in the yard, sword training, Sansa thought it was probably not the best plan to see _her husband_ , so soon after last night. Instead – having noted the sky bright blue and the sea calm - she decided on taking Shireen, along with Mary, the nursemaid, Mr Darcy, and a couple of guards, to the beach. A short lesson about different stones and how they became rounded, another slightly reduced narration of the _Little Mermaid_ (- the three year old was always demanding it! -), and they had moved to building sand castles, whilst making sure the pup did not come too close.

 

Shireen had been in the process of selecting the best shells to be added to the towers when the group was joined by the wards and Ser Brynden. The boys quickly joined, starting their own castles – most likely making a competition out of who could make the best one. Sansa’s _uncle,_ on the other hand, seemed more interested in speaking with her, suggesting – with no subtlety – they take a walk along the water, whilst the youths entertained themselves.

It started off well enough; just basic talk about Edmure’s training improving, Ser Brynden being glad his nephew seemed to get along with the other wards, as well as Shireen seeming to be less shy than what he remembered...

That is until he stopped rather abruptly and looked over at Sansa with a certain amount of care, “The marriage was not consummated, was it?”

For a second time - like with Mary - her face seemed to be confirmation enough. – _Really need to work on that_...

Blinking several times, she looked down as the crest of the small waves came close to her skirts before it retreated back to the sea. She heard him give soft but long sigh before taking her hand carefully into his own, and gave it a slight squeeze, forcing her to look back up at him.

“ _Sansa_ , I... I understand that you might be... _reluctant_ to accept Lord Baratheon as your husband and to let him into your bed, but you must remember that you will not be truly safe until the union is consummated.”

Her throat was tight, tighter then it had been with Mary. She couldn’t help but feel like a child having been scolded by a preferred teacher, “I... I know... I only want some time, just a bit of time; for _him_ and I to know each other better, at least a little better...” as she spoke, Sansa could feel her temper rising slightly. Feeling more and more justified her voice also mounted; she huffed, “... a-and for him to actually treat me like a _person_ , like his _wife_... not some... _horse_ , some _brood-mare_. It is with _me,_ after all – with my _body_ \- that he wants to do _his duty,_ to have his _sons_... h-his _heirs_.”

Sansa snapped her mouth close, her lips thinning as her teeth clamped together. She decided to only glare up at the knight, who continually said he would _help_ her, _support_ her, even though she was tempted to add that if Ser Brynden was so intent on a ‘ _Tully-Baratheon Consummation’_ , he was welcome to have sex with Lord Baratheon instead of her.

“That is comprehensible Sansa. But you must realise that we do not have the luxury of _amity_ or _time_. I do of course hope that you will be able to have a certain level of affinity and understanding with Lord Baratheon. From the little you have told me of matters of men and women in the future, things have evolved to expect such a relationship to build in such a way, before possibly _progressing_ in other ways. As people live longer, I understand how marriage... _hum_ and _children_ , usually come later; the _necessity_ is _reduced_. Yet, _here_ , highborns - lords as well as ladies - have been... _taught_ to expect... _brought up_ with the knowledge that the prolongation of their line to be a rather _high_ priority. It is unfortunate that our own mortality makes it so. - Feelings and attachment comes later; _builds_ as the marriage progresses.”

Most likely sensing that Sansa was ready to reply, he gave her hand another small grasp, indicating he wasn’t yet finished, “Besides, Sansa, you must remember that we are also rushed by King Aerys and his spies. - As you know, I leave at first light tomorrow, with half the king’s men. And you leave later with Lord Baratheon, his party, and the rest of the royal escort. During the journey, eyes will be constantly on your husband and yourself. Then, all too soon, you will be at court, presented to His Grace. Once there, the number of eyes and talk will only increase. It is better to know that Lord Baratheon is on the same side as you and is agreeable to you, when you _do_ arrive. It will not make your visit any easier for you if all of court can sense discord between you and your husband; – matters might be brought up, even questioned...”

He paused, briefly looking towards the children, before letting out a resigned sighed and looking back at her with a certain level of urgency, “... Sansa... y-you must realise that your _arrival_ is most unusual. I know it was not by your own choosing, but it in its self will create some complications for you... for us. I already have to insure that my brother is properly informed about you, your story and your relation to House Tully. The more support, and the less amount of queries, this will bring our way, the better we all shall be.”

 

Sansa stayed silent next to him, looking out across the sea.

He had said most this before, in different words, even also going into alliances between House Tully and House Baratheon being _crucial_ at this time. And like the previous times - even after the whole debacle of last night with Lord Baratheon - Ser Brynden was _right_ – his words rang true. And yet, this also did not change the fact that Sansa could not just _switch off_. Could he not also understand that she couldn’t just transform herself to this Dragon Age woman, ready and willing to do her husband’s bidding... especially with little care or encouragement from the man – her _husband_ – himself?

She had essentially lost her _whole life_ – her _whole existence_ \- but she still had her thoughts, her feelings, her wishes and dreams... these would not just go away at a flick of the wrist because of some possible looming danger. Was it too much to ask for a little more tolerance... consideration? She was a person, a human with feelings and thoughts of her own. Without that, without at least her _mind_... her _being_ , she would be _nothing_... Nothing would remain of _Sansa Tully,_ the girl, the daughter, the niece, the cousin, the student, the woman she had become these last eighteen years...

She needed it, like she needed air... She needed it so she could not _forget_ ; - forget who she had been, who she still _was_... There was something inside that no one could get to, no one could touch, it was hers and only _hers_... _No one_ could change or force it out of her, and that was who _she_ was.

 

Without realising, she had stayed silent for so long, staring out at the water – the sea glistening under the rays of the sun, waves meeting the cliffs either side of them, the splashes from the boys and Mr Darcy running towards the coming swell, their feet bare meeting the cool salted water - that she had even forgotten Ser Brynden was still standing next to her, looking at her instead of the scene in front of them-

“-Who knows apart me?”

Sansa closed her eyes and sighed, before she her head turned to look at him.

“Maester Cressen and Mary - my lady-in-waiting; that is all, I believe. _Well_ , expect for...”

Her throat tightened a bit, the image of Lord Baratheon as well as a few scenes from the previous night coming once more to the front of her mind.

Thankfully, the Tully knight only gave a stiff nod of understanding, before adding with a note of warning, “remember not give your trust lightly, Sansa – there are not many you can truly trust here, and there will be even less that you can truly depend on once in King’s Landing.”

Another sigh, another look at the sea, she nodded, “Yes, I know and I trust Mary, as much as I trust Maester Cressen... he seemed to trust her enough to help cover my... the _current situation._ But why should I worry, according to you, I can, at least, _trust_ Lord Baratheon; he will _protect_ me.”

There was certainty in his voice, “Yes, yes you _can_ , and he will. But there again, you also need to remember Lord Baratheon is but _one_ man.”

 

**.**

 

It was not until evening, for the meal that Sansa did see _her_ _husband_.

Though the setting more intimate, she was actually relieved that it was in one of the smaller dinning chambers. Only the prominent guests, certain key knights and the higher ranking of the keep were in attendance, instead of the entire castle possibly watching over their _lord_ and _lady_.

All day, a large part of Sansa had been thankful for the small reprieve of not seeing Lord Baratheon so soon after last night, worrying how he would act or say to her. Even now she sat rather stiffly by his side.

And yet, it seemed her nerves had nothing to worry about. - At least at present, as Lord Baratheon was focused on continuing the meeting he had come from; his attention was on whatever was being discussed with Ser Eddard, Ser Brynden, Ser Lomas Estermont and Ser Cortnay Penrose. This _was_ reasonable, as her _uncle_ would leave early in the morning, before them, and his own uncle was staying in Storm's End with its castellan. Yet, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder once more if _this_ was what she had to look forward to: her husband focused on his _many duties_ , basically oblivious to her presence until the _key moments_ she was _useful_. A moment of dread ran through her, passing her scar, to hit the pit of her stomach with a hard thud: - _what if_ _he focused on nothing but for the fact I would not have sex with him and calling him a brute_?

Her worries running through her mind, Sansa forced to take a few bites of her quail... All the while wondering if Lord Baratheon would come to her chambers tonight and once more demand her to do her ' _duty'_? – In the last weeks, and from the talk, the man – _no_ , her _husband_ – had proven himself rather stubborn and obstinate... Surely he would not think her more amiable tonight?... Or would they be forced to have a repeat of last night?

Her fork starting to shake slightly in her hand, Sansa was ever so grateful when Renly unexpectedly called for her attention, moaning to her about how he would miss both his brother and her, all whilst making her promise to write as much as possible from the capital, as ‘ _Stannis will most likely forget_ ’.

 

**. . .**

 

Ever since his conversation with Eddard, Stannis’ thoughts had been plagued as to what to do with regards with his marriage and his bride. - _Well, no_. More honestly, the woman had been the focus of all his thoughts ever since her accusatory words.

 

And now more than ever, Stannis could not be more aware of her. All whilst trying to concentrate of the final preparations and instructions before the journey, Stannis was alert to _his wife in name_ _only_ sitting, mostly silently, right next to him. Her presence was especially poignant since, with a certain level of disappointment, Stannis had noted, as she had joined them for the meal, that Lady Sansa didn’t seem to have regained much colour on her cheeks since yesterday, even though he knew she had gone out, to the beach. - It seemed that his bride was just as worried as she had been for their wedding.

With a strangled cough, he remembered once more her accusing him of being a brute and a rapper.

Of course, Stannis understood some of her fears; her maidenly concerns. What maiden would not be worried about her bedding, especially one so inexperienced to a man’s touch? (- At the thought, Stannis might have felt an involuntary slight twitch in his breeches at the reminder of her being untouched).

– _Yes_ , it was only a natural response that she be worried. There _had_ been less of an age gap between Lysa and himself when they had married. Lady Sansa was not even a year older than Lysa had been then, whilst he was now older and _more experienced_. Moreover, having grown up in a _motherhouse,_ of sorts, Lady Sansa would understandably be even more innocent than her sister had been (- that is to say, if Lysa had actually been all that innocent on their wedding night).

But none of this called for his bride’s _harsh words_. He would never have, nor would he _ever_ act in such a beastly manner... immediately taking her from behind or whatever else she possibly still imagined him doing. - She was his _wife_ , the Lady of Storm’s End, the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, the mother to hopefully his heir. Her breading and station was enough of a guarantee that he would take care as he ‘breached’ her maidenhead, even look at her as he did the deed...

Did he - his comportment - truly give such a picture of his possible actions? – _Surely not_!

 

Perhaps Eddard was right and a more... _civilised_ conversation was _perhaps_ needed.

It _was_ also true that Lady Sansa had been brave to have spoken up and expressed her thoughts to him. Not many men, not even his own knights, had the daring to speak their minds, when not in agreement to his own... _Though_ , as his wife, she shouldn’t have; she should have done her _duty_...

 _Then again_ , he also had to acknowledge that he _had_ barely known Lysa. In the five years of marriage, neither of them had really taken the time to try and get to know the other... and _yes_ , Eddard might have been _slightly correct_ in pointing out that Stannis might not have been the _most_ approachable husband, _man_ in Westeros. But then Lysa had always been such a hard, uncaring woman, only interested in rather superficial matters...

... And where had that brought them? - _His_ wife falling into another man’s arms.

 

As Ser Lomas spoke about the increase of rats in the keep, Stannis attention wondered on the conversation his wife was currently having with his brother; - or at least what Renly was saying at her,

“... And you _must_ write Sansa. Stannis will most likely forget...”

Stannis gave a small grunt of protest at the accusation. Barely a moment later, he felt as much as noted Lady Sansa flinch slightly, confirming that she had realised his insertion into their conversation. However, Renly seemed oblivious to it, as he continued on talking,

“... and, in any case, he does not seem to know what to write about. You must remember to describe the whole of court to me: who are the lords and the ladies there, what they wear? And the Kingsguard – are they as fierce as the tales say? Do their armour truly shines as brightly, their cloaks so white and pure as Ser [Arstan ](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Arstan_Selmy)says about his great-uncle**?-”

Stannis gave his brother a stern stare, as he cut through “- Renly, there is more to King’s Landing than the colours and the level of cleanness of people’s clothes. In the same way, it is not correct for you to force Lady Sansa to a promise such an endeavour, when she might not have the time or the inclination for such things. In any case, I have _always_ kept a diligent correspondence with the keep when I am away, and my letters are filled with detail on different topics and what is of _true_ importance.”

Renly only huffed - quite petulantly for a young lord of ten-and-twelve in Stannis’ opinion - “But you only ever write about _tedious_ things... going on about matters of the keep, and asking Maester Cressen if my counting and divisions have improved as much as my sword training.”

With another glare, Stannis challenged him, “And has it?”

However, before Renly could reply, Stannis watched as his wife place her delicate hand reassuringly on his pouting brother’s one, speaking softly,

“Don’t worry Renly, I will try to be as diligence as possible in the describing court life. But your brother is correct; there is more to life than clothes and sword playing with the other boys. You must not let your lessons fall behind because your preference for more enjoyable activities. – Your brother did not hold the Stormlands for the last ten years on his fighting skills alone, or on how he dressed. He was ever conscious of the lands; of his accounts and of his different houses and villages needs depending on their numbers and where their lands are situated. Now that he will be away, it is for you to help Maester Cressen and Ser Cortnay Penrose make sure _your_ family’s lands are well provided for.”

 

Stannis blinked.

First, as she had started to speak, fury had started to build within him, thinking that his wife had been ready to dare undermine _his_ authority. As well as wanting to reprimand her not to coddle the boy; he was nearing manhood, it was time he started acting more like one. But then, just as quickly, Stannis had soon felt his neck and cheeks heat up slightly, a certain level of pride and gratification that not only his wife had complimented him on his ability to ensure for his lands, but also gave her support into the manner in which he instructed his brother... Of course, there had also been a certain level of annoyance that Lady Sansa thought that Stannis needed her help to correct _his_ brother. - _Surely_ she should know that he could defend himself and her intervention had been unnecessary. And then, at the last comment, Stannis had been tempted to correct Lady Sansa once more that it was _her_ family, _her_ lands, _her_ House now, as well.

A rough cough, his usual stiff nod, Stannis chose his words carefully, addressed to Renly but intended for both his brother and his wife,

“Each of us has our role, Renly. All should assist in our own way, to the best of our ability, to the continued success preservation and extension of our House and those put in our care, regardless of individual predilections.”

 

**. . .**

 

After the slightly strange moment during dinner, there had been no mention or indication that Lord Baratheon would talk to her more, or would want to visit her bed, after the short reprieve of one day.

As such, Sansa thought it alright for her to turn to her _solar_ with the children, starting on a new tale – _‘Harry Potter, the many trials of a young lord-wizard in a distant land’_. Lord Baratheon had retired to his own solar with the other men, conversation to preparations returning.

That was until, just as Sansa had started describing the Sorting Hat Ceremony (- _as well as explaining for  possibly the hundredth time that even though Gryffindor did have the lion as its animal and the colours red and gold to represent the House, it had **nothing** to do with House Lannister_ -), Mr Dracy suddenly jumped from her lap, and scurried to greet his master, who was standing slightly awkwardly by the door.

Of course, upon noticing him, Septa Baela decided this was the _perfect_ moment to put a temporary halt the narration and for Lady Shireen and the younger boys to retire to their chambers; ‘ _especially with the long road ahead, tomorrow_ ’.

 

In record time – with a few protests and speedy ‘good nights’ expressed – Sansa soon found herself alone with Lord Baratheon.

However it seemed that the older woman’s actions had not been anticipated by the man either, as he seemed even more at a loss as to what to do than when he had interrupted the storytelling (- as well as the very peculiar way he had wished his daughter a good night).

There was a long, deafening pause, Sansa wondering the reason for his visit, her heart quickening at one very likely possibility. Frustratingly, Lord Baratheon took a rather extensive scan across the room, before his dark blue eyes finally landed on Sansa once more. He gave a small cough and spoke, “Lady Sansa, I... there...” His jaw clenched briefly, before he finally restarted, “my lady, would you allow to escort you to your chambers?”

Her mind went blank for a second, her heart skipping a beat. The moment passing, she thankfully unfroze – her heart now beating faster than ever – and finding no other words to respond, clumsily piped, “Yes, o-of course.”

 

**. . .**

 

This was not going as he had expected. Though - thinking on it further - neither had last night or any other moment he had previously had with Lady Sansa. _Maybe it would best to expect anything to specific for whenever I seek her out_?

His purpose had been to speak with Lady Sansa about the journey to King’s Landing, now that all preparations seemed concluded. There were a few matters that (– possibly on Eddard’s recommendation –) he thought best to discuss before the start of their trip. He was of course certain that others had already assisted her in her preparations. And yet there were still a few matters that required some discussion – especially with all those plaguing his mind.

However, Stannis had not anticipated for Lady Sansa to still be with the children. No, he had assumed that she admits doing embroidery or whatever other womanly pursuits she preferred indulging in after the evening meal, her handmaiden and the septa keeping her company. Stannis had actually thought the youths would have retired to their chambers by now (– it _was_ rather late for a three and five year old to still be awake). Thankfully, though, with some deliberation – and Septa Baela timely assessment – things seemed to be finally falling into place.

And now, although clearly slightly nervous, his wife _had_ accepted his arm and he was currently leading her to her chambers.

Looking over at her, Stannis considered: Lady Sansa had not actually stated any aversion to being his wife or consummating their vows. – _No_ , she had only insisted they should know each other better. It was then that Eddard’s rang in his ears: ‘ _From her first day here, she suggested you try and court her; - mayhaps, that be the place to start.’_

\- _So best not talk of duty and heirs... at least not yet_.

 

Gratefully, before he had time to possibly say something that might upset her , they arrived at her chambers. Once inside, he also thought best to allow her the small reprieve of releasing her arm from his, and letting her move further into the room.

 

As for himself, he quickly took note of the room – as he had not taken a proper look at it the previous evening. There were in fact several things he had missed the previous evening (- though his mind had been focused on _other_ matters). The rooms definitely looked _altered_ from their – _disastrous_ \- wedding night...

His mind scrambling, still uncertain as how to proceed, he ultimately cleared his throat and inquired, “I trust that the chambers are to your satisfaction?”

Her large, mismatched eyes blinked up at him – possibly having anticipating a different topic of conversation – before she seemed to regain some of her composure, “Oh – yes, o-of course. The rooms are lovely; it is a shame that I didn’t get to appreciate them more before our journey”; her own gaze breaking from his, in preference to looking round the room and to then fall on the telltale locked wooden chests and her curious travelling bag that had yet to be brought below.

As her words truly registered, Stannis suppressed a frown, “You will get to _appreciate_ them further, my lady, upon our _return_.”

Her mouth made a small but rather intriguing ‘o’, before she let out a small nervous laugh, “Oh, how foolish of me. Of course: on our return.”

Giving a stiff nod of affirmation, Stannis continued, “ _Yes_. Even if His Grace might request that my presence in the capital be extended, most of our party, yourself included would return.”– The thought of Lady Sansa in close proximity to King Aerys made his stomach turn. - “However before there can be any thought of coming home, we are first required to leave: our journey to King’s Landing. This is why I thought it best if we spoke briefly before the start tomorrow... Ser Brynden as well as Septa Baela should have informed you that a wheelhouse for the youths and yourself.”

Thankfully, Lady Sanse gave a nod of confirmation. – _Good._

“With the wheelhouse and several carts holding baggages, we will unfortunately go at a much slower pace than the group leaving at dawn, hopefully arriving at the capital in seven days.”

“Y-yes, Ser Brynden has previously spoken of this... the delay.”

“As he should have. Did he possibly mention that for most of the trip we would be stopping at inns, and for one of the days travelling through the Kingswood, we would have to camp with tents?”

“The matter was briefly discussed.”

Stannis shifted slightly in frustration: if The Blackfish had only said a few words on the inns and tents, he most likely had passed over the topic of the _sleeping arrangements_ , leaving it to Stannis to inform her. – _The bloody black trout_.

His throat oddly rough once more, Stannis gave a dry cough before stating, “for the inns, as well as for the tents, we... that is, only one... Lady Sansa, I am not certain if you had stayed in many inns when travelling from your motherhouse, but rooms in inns are not in abundance. As well as the fact that the royal envoy will require one... and... ” – _By the_ _Gods this is ridiculous, just say it_! - “We will be sharing a room, my lady; as it is customary for married lords and ladies, when travelling.”

Though relieved that he had finally said the words (- ridiculous that it had taken him this long to say!-) as soon as they were spoken, a strange stillness seemed to have entered the room, his heart becoming heavy in his chest, as Stannis forced his eyes to stay on Lady Sansa’s mismatched ones.

 

**. . .**

 

It took several seconds for what Lord Baratheon had just said to truly register.

Ser Brynden had spoken to her earlier – this morning, as well as previous days – about not only King’s Landing but also about the journey. Even as her stuff had been sorted and packed by the maids, Septa Baela and Mary had also said one or two comments of what was necessary or not. But none had thought to mention _this_! – _A bit of warning would have be nice!_

Though - _yes, technically_ \- she would have slept with the man yesterday, so maybe they did not think it all that essential to say. On the other hand, _both_ Mary and Brynden knew that _nothing_ had happened. – _Gods, this was just great_!

 _Well_ – focusing on the small glimmer of light – at least she knew now rather than tomorrow night. With a small resigned nod, she decided best to actually thank Lord Baratheon for the warning (- though still going bonkers on the inside), “I appreciate the forewarning, my lord. It is most considerate of you.”

Words however seemed to have left him though, as Lord Baratheon only gave her a curt nod in response.

“W-was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

There was the briefest of pauses, and he then rather suddenly blurted, “The weather!... – _hum,_ that is to say, the weather should be mild throughout the journey, but light rain, for a few hours, might make an appearance.”

“Good to know. Thank you.”

 

Another nod, another pause, and then Lord Baratheon finally stated, “I will leave you to the rest of your evening now, my lady... I... still have a few more items that need attending to before tomorrow.”

With a small smile (- reassured, more than anything that he would not, in the end, make any mention of the consummation or their _duty_ -), Sansa gave him a brief bob of the head, “Of course. I hope you do not stay up to late, though, and will be able to get some rest for the trip, Lord Baratheon.”

He stood there, unmoving, looking straight at her. He seemed wanting to say something. In that brief moment Sansa had the sudden fear that he had changed his mind and that he would ask – _demand_ – that they _consummate_ the marriage tonight.

Ultimately, however, it seemed that he decided against whatever he had been struggling with, and instead could gave her a stiff bow, as if both dismissing himself and her at the same time.

An awkward cough, another jerk from the neck – not even really a nod this time – and Lord Baratheon stepped further away, towards the door to his own chambers.

 

He was nearly at the door, when he finally broke the silence – “Stannis.”

The word catching Sansa off guard, she blurted an inelegant, “What?” as her only response.

This time, he fully turned to her, before he clarified, “My name is Stannis. As we are married, I think it appropriate we call each other by our given names.”

 

Sansa’s mouth made another ‘o’, before it twitched into a small reassured smile, “Good night, Stannis.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - For their continued help/effort with this fic, I couldn't resist giving a small wink to Sarah_Black and DolphinRider - thank you ladies! :)
> 
> ** - Lysa was 16-17 and Stannis 20 when they married.
> 
> *** - Don't know if previously mentioned but, from the books, Ser Arstan Selmy is Baristan Selmy’s great-nephew.
> 
> Also, for those who had noticed/wondered: the lack of Sansa calling Stannis ‘Lord Big and Muscly’ in her thoughts, in the last few chapters had been intentional :)


	20. PART II – Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 'honour' of creepy white men with dubious hair style and even more questionable ideals in power (- hey, just like crazy aerys! - ) I decided to publish this intro to King's Landing this week.
> 
> Thank you once more to Sarah_Black for helping with parts of the chapter :)

 

 

**On the Road to King's Landing**

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

As he moved through the darker narrow corridors at the back of the brothel, Olyver took note of the girls and the few boys he passed. A small relief ran through him: none seemed to have any real bruising from their day’s work. This in itself was reassurance that the king’s temper was mollified. Then again, he would have most likely heard whispers from inside the Red Keep if His Grace had demanded a whore or two. Moreover, the event of a burning was also a preliminary requisite before the king called for _companionship_.

Moving further into the building, the corridors were now wider, more inviting, with colourful drapes of rich reds, blues, purples and golds dangling from the ceilings. Moans, cries, and what other usual sounds one would expect to find in such an establishment could be heard more clearly through the wooden screen and walls on either side of him.

Finally, he arrived at his destination, the dark door with a small bird etched just above its handle – _inconspicuous_ \- like the rest of the door; it was usually overlooked.

He gave a brief knock and then entered without waiting for a response – he was expected.

 

Once inside the dimmed room, Olyver wondered whether the thin curtains that filtered the sunlight were more to hide the ugliness of the true world outside or to keep his lord’s secrets better hidden.

It took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust and find the only other person in the room: Lord Petyr Baelish. Not _Littlefinger_ ; – _never_ Littlefinger. And yet, ironically, here he _was_ Littlefinger more than in any other place; always spying, thinking, calculating his next move.

He was still looking through one of the small holes in the walls as Olyvar closed the door.

And then his ‘ _lord-protector_ ’ – _or is it provider?_ \- turned to face him. Without preamble, Baelish indicated the sofas and table in one of the corners of the chamber and asked, “How was our Lord Hand this morning?”

A satisfied smirk on his lips, Olyver replied, “His _sword_ _play_ was _lively_ ; full of vigour. For some reason, Lord Connington seemed to have more energy and frustrations than usual to exert... both during his match with Ser[ Willem Darry](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Willem_Darry)*, as well as his _match_ with myself.” – He should know: Olyver’s rear still felt the Lord Hand’s _exertion_ and _energy_ even before sitting down. Thankfully the sofa had cushions.

Pouring wine in one chalice and his own mint concoction in another, the other man only raised an eyebrow, his piercing stare inviting Olyver to continue.

“It seems that today’s council meeting had him rather _agitated_ … Possible arrivals are keeping him on edge.”

Lord Baelish scoffed as he looked down at his cup, turning it through his finger, making the drink swirl, “Lord Connington has known of the royal invitations for several days now. – Surely by now he had come to terms with the fact that he is more than likely going to be replaced... If he hadn’t made his devotion to our pretty prince so obvious, he might not have been in this situation. If anything, Lord Connington should be relieved if His Grace only sends him back to his keep, him and his lands still all his and in one piece...” There was a pause, his wrist stopping midway through a circular motion, the chalice and liquid stilling. Looking straight into Olyver, he added, “– There has to be more. This irritation must come from something new – what is it?”

Olyver took a sip of his drink, for slight effect, before revealing, “Lord Arryn is also coming to the capital. Lord Connington is not certain if it was His Grace who sent him a royal invitation or if it is the Old Feathered Lord himself wanting to visit his king. He is getting rather unsettled of the rumours that either men might take the Handship from him... As for Lord Baratheon and Lord Arryn, he is rather concerned as to what they might be planning, especially since neither have the best opinion of _his_ _beloved_ pretty prince.”

“Lord Baratheon was Lord Arryn’s ward for a large part of his childhood. The old man giving him any kind of additional support would not be all that surprising. Hopefully the ever _dutiful_ lord will be there to welcome his mentor... _Although..._ I _had_ expected Lord Baratheon to have arrived here by now; - he _is_ known for his promptness and dutifulness above all else.”

The statement was finished with a slight frown to his own cup, Littlefinger clearly annoyed that Lord Baratheon - the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and most likely future Hand of the King - was not working in line with _his_ timetable.

Suppressing his smirk, Olyver added, “Truthfully, His Grace, King Aerys, _might_ have been in a state of agitation, as well... There was the matter that only Ser Tully and a portion of the royal envoy will return to King’s Landing by the end of the week.”

Lord Baelish looked up from the chalice, both eyebrows rising ever so slightly. Olyver was certain he had Littlefinger’s full attention now. This was unexpected - _very_ unexpected. Lord Baelish was not fully able to cover the whole extent of his incredulity in his tone,

“Lord Baratheon is refusing the royal invitation?”

“No. It will just take him a little longer to arrive. – He has been _slightly_ detained...”

This time, there was a fully formed frown of confusion... and irritation – clearly Lord Baratheon was refusing to move to Littlefinger’s game, and the man was not pleased -, “... _detained_?”

This was the moment Olyver had waited for – had _hoped_ for – the reveal of _this_ juicy titbit of knowledge. He gave the briefest of pauses for effect, and then,

“Yes, Lord Baratheon’s wedding; - the nuptials are a _minor_ setback to the start of the journey.”

There was the briefest, but sharpest, of stillness in the air – Olyver actually being able to hear one of the whores moan rather loudly somewhere in the background. The next moment, Lord Baelish turned fully to him, undoubtedly not believing the words that had just come from Olyver’s mouth.

“Lord Baratheon has _married_? He has relinquished _Catelyn_? Jeopardised his alliance with the Great Trout? I never thought the man such a fool until now.”

His lip twitched ever so slightly, “He has not. - That is he has not jeopardised his alliance with his lord father-in-law... twice over. His bride is – _was_ \- a Tully; Lady Catelyn Tully’s _older_ sister: Lady Sansa Tully, is now Lady Sansa Baratheon... _Although_ , the nuptials were possibly today... or yesterday. In any case, by the time they arrive here she will be Lord Baratheon’s wife.”

Lord Baelish was not looking at him.

Instead he placed his cup back on the table in front of him, and stood, going to the windows. But Olyver was not troubled by this, he knew, if anything he held his lord’s attention now more than ever. He was listening; listening as well as thinking, his plans shifting.

“According to the letter from Ser Denys, she is apparently a beauty: the same auburn hair as her sisters, with _one_ pretty light Tully blue eye, whilst the other is brown or grey similar to her lady-mother’s. From his rather detailed letter, the royal envoy seems to believe her even fairer than Lady Ashara Dayne or the Great Lion’s daughter... Younger too: seven-and-ten, just at the dawn of womanhood, and not yet affected by childbirth and motherhood.”

 

There was a lengthened silence; Olyver waiting at the sofas whilst Lord Baelish looked through the curtains to the streets below, the light of the sun creating strange shadows of the lord’s face. – One in which Olyver could have sworn he heard the mummers of the words “ _more_ ” and “ _cat_ ”-. And then, all too quickly, the curtain was dropped and Littlefinger’s face was once more in the room’s dimness, his grey-green eyes on Olyver.

“Doreah, one of Lady Catelyn’s maids – she will have to step up further in the coming days. We have to assure that she will be deemed worthy enough to be chosen as one of Lady Tully’s sister’s handmaidens: only the best is acceptable for a Lord Paramount _and_ the future Hand’s lady-wife. As for yourself: it would be remiss of your to not ensure the Lord Hand is thoroughly _exerted_ in his sparring, but best find out if the master-at-arms has other knights that your squire training could be _broadened_ with.”

Olyver’s smile _broadened_ , “With pleasure. I wouldn’t want my training to fall behind – that would be a disgrace.”

“It also would be best if you did not visit often in the coming weeks: use our agreed methods if I need to be informed of something. With the arrivals, there is no doubt the Spider with be tightening his many webs.”

Olyver’s lips twitched into a small smile, “Of course.”

With reflection, his eyebrow rising enquiringly, he couldn’t help but suggest, “No... _maids_ or _servants_ to be sent to see to Lord Baratheon’s _care_?”

Littlefinger scoffed, as he filled his cup with minted tea once more, “The endeavour would prove useless. - Though not by how comely or not his wife may be. The man is duty bound above all else, to _all_ his vows”, there was a slight pause, as he seemed to consider something, before wistfully adding, “Although, I wonder if Lord Baratheon knows his brother has arrived in the capital?” His smirk coming into full affect now, he continued, “I doubt Ser Robert Baratheon even knows his lord-brother is journeying here, or he would most likely not have come here after his little tourney in Maidenpool.”

Olyver confirmed with a nod, “From the noises I heard as I was passing, the stag seems rather _active_ for his second day in the capital. – How many does he have with him? Three?”

“ _Four_. – But who am I to refuse the brother of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in my establishment?... One of the many burdens of family: you do not get to choose them. And the man is a bane to his older brother. He spends quite a few pretty pennies, and Lord Baratheon ends up paying his – _many -_ faults. And from what I have heard the youngest might potentially be just as _simple_ as the middle one...”

Lord Baelish finished the last sups of his drink and proceeded to straighten his robes and adjusted the mockingbird pin.

“Enough about the great oaf and his brothers. Not much will change for the rest of the day; – His hands are rather _full_ at present... In the mean time, it has been a while since I visited my old fosterer; - Lord Tully was ever a father to me.”

 

Just as he reached the door, he turned back to Olyver and added with a note of warning, “See that you do not linger too long – the Spider has his little birds everywhere.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Ser Willem Darry served as the Red Keep’s master-at-arms during King Aerys II reign and was brother to the Kingsguard Ser Jonothor Darry.
> 
> In this AU, Petyr is not part of the Small Council (not yet at least ;P) but has already built considerable wealth (first in Gulltown, then King’s Landing) and influence. – Even though in 289 he is only 21.
> 
> The whole scene was inspired by one in the TV show, Season 3 Episode 5 (even decided to keep the same name for Baelish’s male spy-prostitute): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ez37fRLzZJk>
> 
> Olyver is supposed to be/inspired by Olyver/Olyvar from the TV. On the 'A Wiki of Ice and Fire' wiki page they write his name ‘Olyver’ but write that he has also been called ‘Olyvar’: [https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Olyver](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Olyver&sa=D&ust=1478871968063000&usg=AFQjCNHhsPMvVyiStPqjn0QZxXjPOsUsKA) -> decided to go with Olyver - in link with the real name Oliver -> Oliver twist - link with 'lost children'/ orphans/ prostitution/ criminals/ the darker side of life in London -> thought it was a 'cool' link with Baelish's (similar) world.


	21. PART II, Chapter 1 – Easy Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road Trip, Day 1.

 

 

Stannis steadied himself on Fury, as his eyes reverted back to the wheelhouse several riders in front of him. They seemed to be continually doing this, ever since watching Lady Sansa entering the carriage.

The party had made good time, so far; having left on time, only a couple of hours after sunrise. It had only been a few hours after the Blackfish had departed. And several more had elapsed since his parting conversation with Maester Cressen. - _Cressen_ , whose words repeated themselves in his mind, the conversation late last evening, not long after Stannis had departed from Lady Sansa’s rooms.

 

 _“I am gratified for what you did for Lady Baratheon._ ”

In the lull that had followed, Stannis had naturally come to realise what _exactly_ the old man had meant by the remark, as well as it shedding some light as to why all in the castle clearly believed his marriage _valid_ ; - or at least that none had said anything to think otherwise.

“ _If you know what I did, you also know she is_ not _Lady Baratheon – not_ truly.”

_“Yes, I do. As I am also certain that you have rather conflicting thoughts on the matter.”_

_“‘_ Conflicting thoughts on the matter’ _: is that how you truly choose to describe the_ current _situation?”_

_“My lord, your brother, Robert, is bold and heedless... Much like Renly seems to be heading towards, regretfully. On the other hand, you are not. Whether you seek council or not, whether you agree or not, whether you would follow or act on it, you have always listened to whatever council is given to you, before deciding on a certain course.”_

_“She is my wife,_ not _a member of my council.”_

 _“And yet, you listened to what she said, or she would truly_ be _your_ wife _._ ”

Stannis had stood silently, looking out the window to the darken cliffs and sea outside, wondering if he should share with the elderly maester what had truly happened the previous evening... As well as perhaps divulge his earlier conversation with Eddard and what the northern knight had suggested. However, before he had come to any decision, Cressen had continued,

“ _Do you know the tale of how Lord Orys Baratheon married the daughter of the Last Storm King?_ ”

“ _Naturally; - one of the stories our father used to recount to Robert and I, in our youth. There was also your own retelling during our lessons, maester._ ”

“ _I was hoping you would indulge an old man, my lord.”_

And, with a certain sense of annoyance, Stannis had.

“[ _Aegon I Targaryen_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Aegon_I_Targaryen) _tasked his sister-queen_[ _Rhaenys Targaryen_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rhaenys_Targaryen) _\- with her dragon_[ _Meraxes_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Meraxes) _– and Orys Baratheon to obtain_[ _Storm's End_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Storm%27s_End) _from King_[ _Argilac Durrandon_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Argilac_Durrandon) _. The Storm King, having heard of the_[ _burning of Harrenhal_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Burning_of_Harrenhal) _, knew that the walls of his castle would not withstand dragonfire_. _So, as an alternative, he rode out to give open battle. Orys ended King Argillac’s life in single combat, and the remaining stormlander army fled. Upon learning of her father’s death,_[ _Argella Durrandon_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Argella_Durrandon) _declared herself the Storm Queen and continued to hold Storm's End. Her garrison, fearing their lives, revolted and turned against their new sire. They delivered her to Orys. With no more opposition, having attained the castle, Aegon rewarded Orys with Storm's End and named him_[ _Lord Paramount of the Stormlands_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lord_Paramount_of_the_Stormlands) _._ ”

“ _My lord,_ _I asked of how Orys Baratheon became wed to Argella Durrandon. Not how he became Lord of the Stormlands._ ”

Although his frustration grew, Stannis had complied once more to the old man’s appeal, “... _Those who had delivered the princess – turned queen -; they lacked honour and sense of duty. They brought her to Orys’s camp, gagged, in chains and unclothed. Orys Baratheon was..._ considerate _of her current state. He covered her with his cloak and treated her with care, removing her bindings, and giving her food and wine. He spoke to her gently, telling her of her father Argilac's courage in death. History has not gone into further detail on the matter, but it is known that, not long after, Orys Baratheon took Argella as his wife_.”

“ _And adopted the stag banner, honours and words of the_[ _Durrandons_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Durrandon) _:_ ‘Ours is the Fury’ _, for the newly founded_[ _House Baratheon_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Baratheon).”

“ _You could not be possibly be suggesting I renounce my own_ -“

“- _No, undoubtedly not. But Lord Orys Baratheon did seem to have the good sense to..._ _be_ ‘considerate of her current state’ _and_ ‘treat her with care’ _. He also acknowledged her father and her own valour. I do think these small acts helped in her accepting him as her husband._ ”

Silence had dragged after the statement, Stannis unsure how to respond. On the other hand, the older man did seemed eager to continue,

“ _My lord, in addition to whatever valuable suggestions Ser Eddard gave you,_ _I would encourage you to tell Lady Baratheon of her sister; of what truly happened with Lady Lysa_.”

“ _And what do you expect will happen, Maester Cressen, when she learns that her sister preferred another man to me and even attempted to murder me? – What exactly? That she will be more receptive to being my wife? To doing her duty? Welcoming me to her bed?... I highly doubt such positive outcomes from such a discussion._ ”

“ _Her father learnt the truth: Lord Tully was receptive enough to try and make amends, even propose another one of his daughters as reparation. And he had raised Lady Lysa during the whole of her childhood. Lady Baratheon, on the other hand, has not seen her sister for many years. Not since she was an infant. She knew next to nothing of the woman Lady Lysa grew to become. This detachment would allow her to be more open and possibly sympathetic to the revelation. It will undoubtedly help her understand; more than you would think. Furthermore, it will allow her to be better prepared for the many trials you will face,_ together _, in King’s Landing_...”

 

The words still circled in his mind, when Stannis heard another – nearby - voice speak,

“Do you suppose His Grace has also sent a raven, or even an envoy, to Dragonstone?”

 _Eddard_.

At the question, coming back to the here and now, Stannis’ gaze went from the carriage to even further ahead, landing on Ser Denys Celtigar, the royal emissary. The knight and the rest of king’s envoy were far enough – too far - to have heard. In fact, none were close enough to hear any words exchanged, except for his closest and most trusted knights. – Nevertheless, they still had to be careful in what they spoke of. They weren’t behind Storm's End’s walls anymore.

Eyes still on the knights with red dragon shields, his voice low, Stannis replied, “King Aerys is the sort of sire who would relishes in demonstrating his power on others. He takes pleasure from it; from ordering someone about. Especially if he feels somehow _lacking_ compared to the person, in some way. That is most likely why he invited Lord Arryn. Jon Arryn is older and wiser than His Grace, yet I cannot help but believe that it was _not_ for his council that our king called on him. It was to make a _statement_. In the same way, _yes_ : - he most likely would have sent a royal _invitation_ to Dragonstone, calling his heir back to court. This would be a particularly definite step if Ser Brynden is correct with regards to the change in Handship. With such a summons, King Aerys reminds Prince Rhaegar he is just that: the _heir_. Aerys is the current king and Rhaegar is _not_.”

Eddard gave a nod of agreement, pulling faintly on the reigns of his own mount. Their horses took a few more paces, the northerner seeming to consider the reply, before adding, “Would Prince Rhaegar bring his family with him?”

At the added query, Stannis realised that the first had been as much to do with the prince coming to Kings Landing as it was to do with Eddard’s nephew possibly also travelling to the capital. - Stannis had recognized for quite a few that one of the main reasons his friend still kept to Storm's End - so far from Winterfell and the rest of his family, for so long at a time - was because of his nephew, Prince Jaenerys*. Although the prince was still rather young, only a boy of six – or possibly rather because of it - Eddard held a steady correspondence with him and travelled to the capital or the Dragon Prince’s seat every three turns or so to visit him. – The youngest prince was the only true reason Eddard was willing go near the pit of vipers so often.

“I believe His Grace would request for Prince Rhaegar to also bring his heirs with him. – If he were to leave them in Dragonstone, it would most likely raise Aerys’ suspicions about his son.”

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa welcomed the relief from in stretching her shoulders, neck and legs.

Worse than a long car ride, the wheelhouse had been stifling. Worse was that the movement of the wheels on the road had rocked it repeatedly and sometimes rather abruptly. Even the _entertainment_ in the moving box had diminished greatly when the children had fallen asleep. (- Sansa was still very much confused on how exactly they could have possibly fallen asleep in such conditions -). At least it seemed she wasn’t the only one relieved by the travelling party taking a break: Mr Dracy sprinted out behind her, barking blissfully at the fresh air.

 

It seemed that her prior discomfort was still visible on her face as barely a few minutes passed from the puppy passing her, that Sansa heard her name being called, a level of concern in the voice,

“ _Lady Sansa?_ ”

She turned to find Lord Barath- no... _Lord Stannis_ \- walking towards her, seeming slightly hesitant. She could only think to smile tentatively back at him (– _or really_ , all her words had been swallowed down).

Clearly this encouraged him - or at least gave him a certain level of reassurance - since he stepped closer.

“Would you care to join me for a repast?”

Not too different from yesterday, Sansa felt a certain level of contentment and encouragement at the suggestion. With a – possibly still somewhat nervous – smile, she replied, “By all means, lead the way Lord Ba- _Stannis_. I find myself rather peckish.”

Lord Stannis blinked at her attempted friendly reply. Then, rather stiffly, he presented her with his arm.

Sansa was actually surprised to be led to a table already being set with only two placings and seats, all this at a noticeable distance from the rest of the travelling group, a few trees even adding a certain level of privacy.

\- _Is he finally going to take in my suggestions and try to get to know me_?

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis took another bite and chewed on the piece of poultry, still at a loss as to what to say. - How to possibly start any sort of discussion with Lady Sansa?

Eddard had recommended spending some time with Lady Sansa... and to try and do so _before_ they would be forced to, this evening. - ‘ _It would be best to_ _make her comfortable and more receptive to your presence_.’ - As Lady Sansa was supposed to be within the confines of the wheelhouse for most of the day, Stannis had determined this would most likely be the only true moment he would be able to spend time with the lady.

And yet, so far, Stannis was still at a loss as to what to say to his wife. From his seat, he looked over, to study her eating her own food, rather demurely – not too different from a small bird pecking delicately at her food. The study must have continued for too long, Lady Sansa feeling his gaze on her, as she looked up from her plate to look back at him and her eyebrows raised inquisitively.

Feeling not too different from a child having been caught for having done something he shouldn’t have been doing, Stannis repositioned and straightened himself in his chair. Clearing his throat roughly, he found nothing to say except ask,

“Is the meal acceptable, my lady?”

“Y-yes, thank you... I have always loved picnics. Eating cold pieces of chicken, cheese and bread, fruits and nuts, whilst nature surrounds you with all its beauty... The sun shining over head, a cool breeze passing through the trees, birds singing: What’s not to like?... The whole setting adds a certain level of liveliness and excitement to the experience of eating food... _hum_... A-and you – do you find it acceptable?”

“It is...”

“... _But_?”

Stannis’ brows came ever so slightly together, the one word question confusing him – “ _Pardon_.”

“You looked-... it sounded like there was a ‘ _but’_ lingering somewhere in there; that you had more to say. U-unless I am mistaken...?”

Stannis was tempted to retort that his personal preferences were of no importance. Only that the kitchens had provided them with an acceptable enough meal were of consequence. And yet – _strangely_ – as she waited for him to respond, Lady Sansa actually seemed genuinely _interested_ , in his answer; - in Stannis’ particular food tastes. That and the fact that he might possibly be a little unnerved by her uninterrupted mismatched stare, Stannis replied,

“I prefer red meats - beef or lamb - to bird game in general. The cheeses, nuts and fruits are perfectly acceptable. However, there seems to be a rather excessive number of tarts that have been prepared.”

Lady Sansa gave him a larger smile, obviously pleased with his response, “I knew about your issue with sugary tastes before, actually. I had noticed, during the few meals we shared, that you would never go for any of the desserts. On the other hand, you would sometimes take seconds of cheese or fruits... I... Beth explained that you were not partial to sweeter foods, but that you _did_ like your lemon water. When these were prepared for today’s meals, I requested that a certain amount of them be prepared less sweet; keeping a sharper flavour, instead.”

Frowning slightly, Stannis looked from the small tarts – _lemon_ tarts – to Lady Sansa and back again. He was somewhat flattered, but also somewhat sceptical, about these specially prepared tarts.

Possibly thinking the reason for the long pause more than it actually was, Lady Sansa quickly added, evidently feeling the need to reassure him, “But, do not worry if you still do not like them. They will definitely not go to waste: I _love_ lemon tarts.”

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa’s eyes followed as Lord Stannis slowly picked one of the small tartlets.

She actually had to stop herself from biting her lower lip, a small sense of worry getting the best of her.

Even before suggesting the tarts to him, she hadn’t been able to not feel that this whole private meal - only Lord Stannis and herself - was not only a _date_ of sorts, but, at the same time, a first test to her being _Lady of Storm's End_ and his _wife_. - _She_ had actually spent quite a bit of time the previous day with Beth and the other cooks, helping them finish prepare this meal as well as additional provisions for the journey. She had not only supervised but had actually made these specific lemon tarts herself – for him as much as for her.

Not that she would reveal this much to Lord Stannis. There was always the possibility that he would find them disgusting. Or, even worse, hate them and rant in outrage that she should not be cooking in the kitchens with the staff. (– Sansa still remembered, from all those weeks ago, the look of half-shock, half-horror on their faces when Sansa had suggested not only giving Beth and her girls her many recipes but making them herself to show the cooks how to properly make them.)

At least, if nothing else, she would have loads of tasty tarts to snack on during the rest of the day, if he did not like them.

The tart eaten, he finally met her gaze, annoyingly showing no emotion, and declared, “This tart was well made.”

“But do you like it? It’s not too sweet for you?”

“Aye. I enjoyed it; it was much more pleasing than sweeter ones I have had previously.”

Letting out a long breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding until then, Sansa couldn’t help but double-check, “ _Truly_?”

Clearly, though, Lord Stannis was not enjoying her persistence, as his lips twitched downward into a frown as he huffed, “Yes, _truly_. Lady Sansa, there would be no benefit for me to lie. If I did, there is the risk that you request more to be made for me at a later date, which would ultimately be a waste of time and resources.”

This time Sansa smiled – ignoring the look of frustration still on his face, “So, what you are really saying is that you wouldn’t be opposed if I _did_ request more to be made?”

She could have sworn she saw the corner of his lip twitch ever so slightly, at her question. Yet, instead of giving a straightforward answer, he replied, “We have to take care to not over-indulge.”

That is, before she watched him take a second small tart a few minutes later.

 

**. . .**

 

As the meal concluded and it became clear that it was time for them to head back out onto the road, Stannis found himself suppressing a grimace.

Strangely, even if the conversation had continued on the rather bland topic of their tastes and specific foods and drinks they either enjoyed or greatly disliked, Stannis thought that his time with Lady Sansa had been rather pleasant. So much so that he now found himself not wanting for their conversation to end. (- Even if Lady Sansa had eaten the last two tarts without asking him first).

 

It was then an idea came to him.

So stirred he was about his thought, Stannis actually blurted it out before he had time to properly think on it, “Would you care to ride as we continue on our journey?”

Lady Sansa blinked up at him; her wide mismatched eyes looking at him in such a way that made his heart beat just a little faster.

“ _Ride_?”

Oddly, it felt that her response evidently had become rather crucial to him, as Stannis promptly clarified with great many words, “On horseback. On a horse... which would be provided for you to ride along my own mount. To further enjoy the nature surrounding us... – You had seemed rather flush when you first exited from the carriage. I thought that you might prefer the fresh air and view from riding... on the horse.”

Rather impatiently waiting her reply, Stannis followed as her mouth came into the lovely ‘o’ shape it sometimes formed when she seemed caught off guard, before her cheeks suddenly turned a charming shade of pink and she bit her lower lip... _in embarrassment_? Clearly something had the lady discomforted, since she then quickly looked down at her feet, her hands clasping together. Frustratingly it took a few more breaths before she at last replied, giving an explanation to her odd actions,

“I-It’s not that I don’t want to. I actually would like that very much, but, you see, I do not... I never have been great at riding a horse. Especially not riding in a dress... I really can’t see that how one can ride in a gown.”

Stannis’ frown deepened in confusion. That is, until he realised what she meant and blinked, “You mean riding _astride_?... Lady Sansa, let me assure that as a lady – as _Lady of Storm's End_ \- you would be riding side-saddle; – as any lady should. _Not_ astride.”

“Oh... right. Well then, I definitely can’t ride: I will most likely slide off or something.”

“Then you will ride with me.” – The statement allowing no room for argument.

 

**.**

 

Stannis gave a slight groan of relief, as they at long last reached the Stag Inn, and he finally got off Fury. - One that might also include a certain level of disappointment, but _mainly_ a grunt of reprieve.

\- _Gods_. What had felt like the most logical suggestion when he had first made it had quickly turned into being one of the most brainless ones he had ever had. As agreeable as Lady Sansa had been during the ride, he should _never_ have invited her to join him on Fury. On the other hand, it had not been his _brain_ that had _suffered_ the _repercussions_ of his thoughtlessness. No, it had been more his chest, thighs and _other areas_ that had been _warmed_ by the added weight on his lap. A rather _pleasant_ torture it might have been, but a _torture_ it was, none the less.

But how could he have anticipated such a response? The two previous experiences he had shared his horse with Lady Sansa - when she had been first brought to Storm's End and when he had found her after she had wandered to the old tree – she had been insentient, pale, shaking for a large part of the journeys. Stannis had been more concerned about her wellbeing and state of mind than concentrate on anything else. This time, however, she was fully conscious and there were no possible dangers to distract Stannis’ of his own thoughts and bodily reactions...

 

With a rough cough, he straightened himself, making sure his face was impassive, giving nothing away, before turning and helping Lady Sansa off the horse.

At least the ride seemed to have worked well with Eddard’s previous suggestion trying to get Lady Sansa to become ‘ _more receptive’_ to him. Wide awake and aware during the whole of the afternoon, she had seemed to fit rather well in his arms. Once he had indicated how she was to properly sit - similar to side saddling but with not much space between them, her body often pressed against his chest - Stannis would even say she had seemed... _comfortable_?

On the other hand, her mutt had made things worse... at least for Stannis. Half-way through the afternoon, having tired from following next to Fury, the pup had wined his weariness to his mistress. Stannis had been more than ready to protest that the beast would be fine, but he knew better than to say anything. This proved to the wrong course as his wife seemed rather _tender-hearted_ as she took pity on the beast. As such, the rest of the trip had been Stannis trying to ignore not only the warm body still on his lap, pressing against his body, but also the gentle _caresses_ and _pettings_ \- the _pampering_ \- she gave the small beast she had placed on her own thighs.-

_\- Woof!_

At the bark, Stannis looked down at his feet. There he was again, his muzzled in a content grin, his tongue lolling. Stannis glared at the small beast as he looked back up at Stannis the picture of innocence.

Of course that was when he heard her voice next to him, smiling, crouching down to pet the damned beast, “Oh yes, Mr Darcy! That’s right: time to have a nice warm meal, a nice scrubbing and good night’s rest!”

 _\- And what kind of a name is Mr Darcy_? _Who is this Mr Darcy?_

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa sunk in her bath not bothering to suppress the small moan of satisfaction that passed her lips. A smile on her lips, eyes closed, she refused for anything – not even what was to come later that evening - to ruin her current good mood.

Despite her trepidation, the day had been a rather enjoyable one. It had especially gone well in the afternoon, with the meal and the horse riding. Of course there had been a few minor hitches - a few small protests from the children who had wanted Sansa to continue to the tales of Harry Potter in the wheelhouse, as well as Lord Stannis being strangely fidgety quite regularly – but Sansa believed it a success. - Ser Brynden would have been proud of her.

 _She_ was definitely pleased.

Although not the most comfortable mode of transportation, riding had definitely been more pleasant than being stuck inside the carriage. She had been able to admire some of the Stormlands countryside - like she should have done with Arya and Gendry - while trying to learn more about the man that was her _husband_.

 _Well_ \- he was most assuredly _not_ the most social person ever. The day had only confirmed further that he was certainly more of the ‘ _silent, brooding_ ’ variety - especially around women - not saying all that much during or after their shared meal. On the other hand, at least Sansa had been able to see more to him other than be _bossy_ , _grumpy_ , or just plain _furious_.

It wasn’t like she would get much from him straight off the bat, on their first time actually spending time together.

Eddard had even said that he had not been on good terms with Lord Stannis for the first year of knowing him when they were kids. - Obvious, Sansa hoped it would take less time for her to reach some level of understanding and a sort of relationship with the guy... but how things had gone today, she couldn’t help but be _optimistic_ ; - a lot more so than only two days ago.

Just like that the first day they met, Sansa had actually felt somewhat _safe_ \- or at least _secure_ – riding with him, in his arms. Truthfully, it had probably also helped that there had been other people around; for Sansa to feel more comfortable, as well as for Lord Stannis being more himself around his men.

And if Lord Stannis himself had not been all that talkative, it had undoubtedly less boring than inside the carriage... even possibly some moments with a touch of humour? – Or at least that were better to take in looking at the funny side of it...

... Like the incident with the sunglasses. - The sun high above them, Sansa had retrieved her _Tortoise Joan Sunglasses_ from her pouch and put them on. The action had been followed by a halt in the conversation the men surrounding her were having. And then, rather oddly, Ser Arstan Selmy had commented somewhat _excessively_ cheerfully ‘ _how well the device suited her ladyship’s face_ ’, with Ser Richard, Ser Eddard giving humorous scoffs, whilst Lord Stannis had glared at the knight. A few moments later, though, Lord Stannis had said in a lower voice (– one that Sansa was pretty sure only she could hear –), similar words – though perhaps not as _flowery_. Of course, he might of slightly ruined the (- possible -) compliment when he had then gone on to ask Sansa more about her glasses and why there was written another man’s name on them – a strange edge to his voice. Suppressing the mix of irritation and absurdity, Sansa had explained that it was the creator’s name: the ‘ _mark of his trade_ ’. She also added that _no_ , she had never met _Tom Ford_ personally, and (- just to cover all bases -) that the glasses had come from the old merchant-wanderer, Merlin, who would sometimes visit the motherhouse.

Thankfully from there, as the journey had continued, both of them had become somewhat more relaxed, with Lord Stannis seeming to be more willing to engage with Sansa and the few basic questions she asked him.

Unfortunately, at the same time, Sansa was given the impression that the man really didn’t have much _enjoyment_ in his life. – When she had asked him how he first started riding, Sansa had been surprised by the very concise, very stiff telling. Sansa tried to keep her face passive as he had basically recited the proper course in how to learn horseback. On the inside, however, she felt overwhelmed by the lack of true feelings behind it, not even pride of his accomplishment, at such a young age; - just stating facts. Maybe being ‘ _lord’_ was really all he knew.

Sansa huffed, – _Well_ , she was definitely willing to try to show him other possibilities to life! For his own good as well as for her!

 

The _click_ of the latch and the door opening brought her back from her musings. Sinking further into the tub, Sansa turned her head to see that it was Mary entering. – _Yea, maybe not fully ready to show him_ all _other possibilities to life just yet_...

But then she couldn’t help but let out a small resigned sigh. Even if it was unquestionably best that he hadn’t come in as she was still naked in the tub, it seemed her _husband_ was most likely still in his discussions. If it was any other man – or at least a modern guy – Sansa might have thought Lord Stannis was avoiding her. However, in this case, it was getting even clearer that he really was all about _duty_. No wonder Sansa was starting to hate that word...

Ever since they had arrived at the inn, he had barely spared her two minutes. After informing Sansa that Bryden Tully had passed the inn several hours previously and handing her the note her _uncle_ had left for her, he gone straight into focusing on his men. The evening meal, unlike their lunch, had been with most of the travelling party. Sansa had spent most of her time with the Edmure and Shireen, whilst Lord Stannis had been immersed in a conversation about shipping trades and other whatnots, with the rest of the men. This had continued whilst Sansa told another chapter of Harry Potter, and when she had then retired to their room for a bath... which had definitely gone on for quite some time now.

 

Bathed and refreshed, she let out another sigh, her thoughts still mulling in her brain. Resigned, she let Mary help her dry up and comb her hair.

It was only when Mary was retrieving Sansa’s nightwear teddy from her rucksack that Sansa’s thoughts properly returned to the present. Feeling a blush on her cheeks, Sansa cleared her throat, “I... I was thinking of wearing for one of the _longer_ nightdresses Mary, thank you.”

Mary blinked twice, “but, my lady, you are always complaining that they are too... ‘ _itchy_ _and_ _stuffy_ ’?”

 _Yea_ , the Dragon Age ones definitely were. But they also covered most of her body, whereas her teddy was definitely way _too_ revealing and provocative, not to mention silky-soft. If she really was going to share a room... and _bed_ with Lord Stannis, she definitely did _not_ want to be giving him more unwanted ideas than he might already have.

Mary must have realised Sansa’s reason – or just seen it on her heated face - as she soon gave her a small smile with an ‘of course’ before taking out one of the mentioned ‘ _itchy and stuffy_ ’ nightgowns from the travelling trunk.

Once dressed and ready for bed, Mary departed.

Alone, it was only then that Sansa’s gaze finally landed on the largest furnisher in the room: the _bed_. Staring at the sheets, pillows and furs, Sansa was torn between staying on her feet, or at least sitting in one of the chairs, and slipping under the covers of the bed. Lying down felt like she would make herself more vulnerable than she already was... but this _was_ going to happen at some point in the night. In any case, standing around, waiting for him to possibly turn up, in only a dressing gown, did not feel like the best choice either.

Sansa bit her lip, heat radiating along the back of her neck.

He _had_ warned her yesterday that they would be sharing a room. But he had made no mention of wanting doing anything specific in the bed... with any luck, just _sleeping_.

The last person Sansa had shared a bed with was her university girl friends and _never_ with a guy. She had only shared a tent with Jon and Stann but they had been all together with Arya, and that had been when they were kids... In any case they were her _cousins_ , nothing remotely sexual had happened. Sansa had not even shared a bed with Joffrey - particularly since he was constantly trying to pressure her into doing _more_ than they were already doing and he would have seen it as way too much encouragement.

 _Gods this was a mess_...

She could only hope that Lord Stannis would not be as less _eager_ of the thought of being on the same bed. If nothing else he would also – _hopefully_ \- be too tired from all the travelling and discussions to want to do anything... _right?_

With another resigned sigh, Sansa looked from the bed to the door and back again, before stepping forward and venturing underneath the covers.

More of less settled, she blew out the candle on her side, and tried to relax as possible... _And_ maybe also moved as far as she could to her edge, without it being too apparent that she was trying to be as close to it as possible.

After a lot of slow calming breathing, she fell asleep...

 

Unfortunately, what felt like several hours later, she was brought back out; certain that Lord Stannis had finally decided to retire to the room. He was not making much noise per say, but his overall presence in the room had definitely brought her out of her sleep.

Keeping her eyes closed and forcing her breathing to stay as normal as possible, Sansa decided it best to pretend to still be asleep. Her ears, however, were very much fully alert to all noise being made as he got ready for bed – _their bed_... as well as her heart banging quite heavily against her rib cage...

... next there was a shift: the blankets and furs were lifted, from the other side of the bed, letting a slight breeze shill run along her body...

The mattress sunk...

A candle was blown out, no light reaching her eyelids any more...

 

... And then nothing except for the sound of breathing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- As you might have got: ' _Jaenerys'_ is Jon Snow’s Targaryen name in this AU; - > Starks and close family and friends do call him ‘Jon’, for short. Jaenerys isn’t actually a Targaryen name in their family tree: it was inspired from ‘ _Jaehaerys’_ and ‘ _Daenerys’_.


	22. PART II, Chapter 2 – Warmth and Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another BIG Thank You to Sarah_Black for Beta-reading a large portion of this chapter. :)

 

 

_The room was beautiful._

_Most of it was pure-white: the walls, the pillars, the floor and stairs. The chairs, tables and other furniture had been made from a rich deep red-brown wood. As if wanting to join in, the light of the setting sun was coming between the many long white columns surrounding the space, illuminating a certain tinge of red against the marbled floor._

_As if in competition with the space, those in the room were just as refined, radiating in their splendour; brilliance merged with simplicity. Nothing was too ostentatious. Everything was elegance itself._

_In the centre an older man is sat on a throne-like chair, a simple golden crown placed on his head. Although sitting, she could tell that he was clearly tall and slender. Even though having reached a certain age, he is still handsome, the maturity of age having defined and sharpened his features. His long shoulder-length hair shone like beaten gold with strands of silver woven together and his eyes were_ [ _deep pools of dark purple_ ](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Purple_eyes) _, staring straight at her._

_His gaze was heavy... so disconcerting that she had to look away._

_She looked at the others in the space. Many surrounded him, on either side. The others – most – had similar silver-golden hair and purple eyes, wearing robes that were just as rich and colourful. Yet one man had dark hair instead of the silver-golden strands, though he had the similar purple eyes. Next to him stood a woman with flowers woven in her fair brown hair._

_Apart from them, a few men wore dark robes, chains hanging around their neck, and matching dark brown caps on their heads. In opposition, several wore long white cloaks, including one very tall muscular man, practically seven feet tall._

_All their attention was on the objects in the centre of the room: seven eggs, all of different colours. They had been placed in a single line in front of the seated man._

 

_Everyone was focused on the eggs, except one._

_A young woman. Instead, she only looked into the distance as if her mind was not present. Her hair was more blond than silver, her eyes a lighter purple than the seated man. There was a sorrow surrounding her, a deep sadness that Sansa could feel._

_The unhappiness was made worse by the fact that this beautiful young woman heavy with child, her small hand placed on her large belly. It was a cruel twist of fate that, even in her sorrow, the pregnancy seemed to make her more beautiful – it was as if she were glowing from the babe she was carrying. The more Sansa looked at this woman the more she realised with dismay that the woman was still very young. A girl more than a woman really, her childlike features were still present. She could not be more than fifteen, but the pregnancy made it hard to guess._

 

_\- Suddenly, the scene shifted. – The mood had also changed. By now the sun had set and only the candles around the room were source of light. Studying the room, the source seemed to be one of the men in dark robes, or more specifically the bottle filled with an emerald green liquid he was bringing to the centre. It was clear that several of the occupants had turned wary now. Whatever this liquid was they did not seem pleased to see it, clearly having not anticipated or known that it would be present._

 

_\- However, before Sansa found out what the liquid was to be used for, the scene abruptly changed once more. – A long intense moan came from one of the sides of the space. The young woman from before was giving out pained cries, as she was slowly sinking to the ground, holding her stomach. With these, she was hastily carried out to be looked after somewhere else._

_Sansa wanted to follow, chase after them, to make sure the young woman would be alright, but she never had the chance. That was when the screams started – the cries of panic. As the yells grew louder, she stood frozen, unable to move, her eyes would only focus and stare at the man in the seat, looking at the eggs._

_As if he felt her gaze, his eyes shifted and landed on her..._

_... and then there was a blast of emerald green._

 

Sansa’s eyes opened with a jolt as she felt the heat of the flames run through her. They were only imaginary but she could still feel the warmth of them throughout her body.

 

She blinked a few times – slowly – as her breathing shifted, calming.

As sleep evaded her further, she slowly lifted her head ever so slightly. Still buzzing, it felt too heavy to lift it more. Looking towards the window, she noted that barely any light was coming through the curtains. Sansa could only assume that it was still very early. Only the calm first noises of dawn could be heard from outside.

Her body continued to awaken - actually starting to hum strangely - Sansa quickly came to realise her throat was very dry and her body still overly warm. This was probably what had incited the strange dream and truly woke her up in the first place.

With a soft groan of frustration, she recognised that this over-heating was most likely due to the freakishly long nightgown she was currently wearing... The nightgown that had climbed up her legs and was now at thigh level... Of course, with this, Sansa also realised, her stomach rolling over, that said _thigh_ \- and other parts of her body – were _not_ actually currently lying on the mattress. _No_ –Sansa seemed to be using _something else_ as her bed- _slash_ -pillow: a large warm body underneath her own.

 _Yep_ – Sansa thought with another groan, born more out of mortification this time. She was actually half-spread on top of Lord Stannis, not too different from a koala dry-humping a bamboo tree.

 _Wait do koalas eat bamboo or eucalyptus?_ – _STOP_! – _Not important right now Sansa: at this moment you should focus on the fact that you are lying on top of a sleeping man_!

Speaking of the sleeping man, instead of moving away, mostly because her muscles still felt too heavy, Sansa could not help but study him - take him in. He – _like a normal human being_ \- was lying on his back, in a rather straight position, whilst she had her left arm and leg covering him as well as a good part of her chest pressed onto his side. Only Lord Stannis’ left arm seemed to have registered the presence of her body, as it lay casually draped across her back, his hand on her hip, securing her further against him.

Body frozen in dread, only her eyes found the strength to look up and thankfully note that his eyes were closed. A sense of relief running through her, it was only then that Sansa properly took in the feel of the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her – confirming further his current state of slumber.

And yet she was still too afraid to actually move. Instead, she let her gaze move back down to his partially covered chest and, lower still, to her leg and his waist. The sheets had obviously been pushed down during the night so that only the lower parts of their legs were tangled in them. Her mouth dried further as her gaze was lingered on the study of his large body. How would it feel to properly touch that chest? To slide her hand from shoulder to hip and feel the heat of his skin under the pads of her fingers?-

 _–_ _Wait, what? Where did_ that _come from?_

Clearly her brain going crazy!

As slowly as possible – feeling like one of those movie-spies going through a laser maze – Sansa delicately took his hand and lifted it away from her hip, placing it instead on the mattress next to his sleeping form.

The feat accomplished, she then started trying to extract herself as carefully as possible from him. Shifting her chest slowly and purposefully from his side, she then, even more delicately, adjusted her leg, moving it off his body.

Unfortunately, that was when she couldn’t help but notice _something else_...

 _Yep_... though he was very much still sleeping, Lord Stannis was also clearly _aroused_.

Sansa felt her cheeks heat up as she noticed the definite bump - a _tent_ of sorts - level with his hips. She tried to remind herself that it was a perfectly natural thing – the voice of her school’s sex-ed teacher popped into her head: “ _a ‘morning erection’ - or correctly called ‘nocturnal penile tumescence’ - is a normal reaction, if not a_ necessary _one. These spontaneous erections usually occur during sleep but sometimes while waking up. All men are graced with them and they normally occur around three to five times during sleep… that is if they are without erectile dysfunction._ ” Ms Mordane had gone on to say that it was actually quite worrying if men didn’t get one whilst sleeping.

Well wasn’t Sansa lucky. Her husband seemed to be a fully functional red blooded man with no _erectile dysfunction_.

She suppressed a very immature giggle... _Yep, definitely no erectile dysfunction_. And this... _‘nocturnal penile tumescence’_ didn’t seem like it would go away anytime soon. It definitely seemed to be quite impressive; - more impressive than Joffrey’s from the few times _he_ had pressed her hand against his jeans...

His breathing changed for a moment, letting out a tiny mumble. Sansa quickly froze once more, wondering if she had accidentally woken him.

Looking up, she was relieved to find that he was still asleep. Exhaling softly, she forced herself to focus on what was important; getting off the sleeping man. As quickly as possible, still carefully she finished moving off and slipping to her side of the bed.

Back on her side of the bed, Sansa couldn’t help but turn her body onto its side to look at Lord Stannis. At a safe distance now, she studied him. His right hand – not the one that had been lying on her hip moments ago – was flung over his head. His head was slightly turned away from it and his arms, looking towards her instead. Her eyes had by now adjusted enough to the dim light in the room that Sansa could note the shadow of stubble visible on his jaw. Her gaze shifted higher, and she noted that his lips were slightly parted – actually making them look fuller, strangely. Sansa then looked at his closed eyelids, his lashes surprisingly long, feathering his cheekbones. His hair was mussed above, untamed. He looked gentler. Even if she knew and had been able to feel that his body was hard with muscle, under her own not five minutes ago, he seemed _softer_ , almost vulnerable. So different from the distant, hard man he portrayed when awake.

For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of touching him. – Clearly the overheating had affected her brain. It would probably be best to stop before she did anything very stupid... like kiss him awake.

With a soft sigh and a one last look at Lord Stannis, she turned to face the other way.

 

She must have been lulled back to sleep at some point, as the next thing Sansa knew, Mary was waking her, informing her that the party was to leave within the hour. Continuing to wake she looked over and saw the other side of the bed was empty – that it had been empty for awhile. The day was already warm, this time a few hours past dawn, the morning sun having risen enough for its golden light to pool into the room.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

“... _And Harry handed the flute over to Hermoine. In those few seconds of silence, the three-headed dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep._

 _Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom..._ ” *

 

Stannis stifled the yawn wanting to escape his throat. Even if he was unable to suppress his current irritable mood, he would try to not make it apparent to others. Although, at least the youths and Lady Sansa were clearly fully engrossed in the outlandish story she was narrating to them, and thus seemed oblivious to his tired state or his ill-humour.

He had never needed much sleep but last night had just been plain ridiculous. It was true that Stannis’ talk with his men _had_ dragged on till much later than necessary, only stopping when the others had demanded rest. Stannis could not well have told them that he had still been very much aware of his wife’s previous affect on him from the day, and thus did not care to go back to his room until he was certain that she would already in bed and hopefully _sleeping_. No, instead, he had let them retire and had gone to wash himself in the pond near the inn and encampment. – This _might_ also have been to save both Lady Sansa and himself the awkwardness and embarrassment of him being completely unclothed in the same room as her. Stannis had no interest in speculating how she would have reacted to him taking a bath in her presence. - She might have even run from the room for all he knew.

When he finally _had_ retired to the room, Stannis was quite certain that he had found her in the desired slumbered state. Unfortunately, it had then also been painfully obvious that she had at some point woken up whilst he had prepared for sleep, as once he had joined her in the bed her body had been overly stiff next to his own. After blowing out the candle, it had taken him ages to fall asleep, ever-conscious that both of them lay unmoving on their respective sides of the bed. Even once he was certain she had fallen back to sleep, Stannis had felt too alert to move, even slightly, let alone fall as rest. Of course, his situation had not been improved by the lady’s constant moving, her steady breathing, nor the few soft moans and mumbles coming from her lips.

Once more Stannis could not help but wonder _why_ she shifted so much. It had obviously been the first time that they had shared a bed. He was not sure what had him more ill-at-ease: his worries that she either always moved about while sleeping – trying to take the whole of the bed for herself? - Or his concern that it had been his presence that made her mind and body uneasy, thus provoking the shifting? – Did some part of her believe – still believe - that he would maul her, attack her in the middle of the night and consummate the marriage with no pre-warning what so ever?

 

His mind shuffling, Stannis’ eyes shifted down to observe as Lady Sansa continued narrating in an energetic fashion, her arms moving occasionally with the action of the story.

“... _Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side, saying, "We must be miles under the school.”_

_"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron._

_However, no time had passed before Hermione shrieked in panic, "Lucky! Look at you both!" ...”_ *

At least when she was awake she seemed comfortable enough with him to have asked, at the start of the day’s travel, – rather shyly, her cheeks slightly pink – if she could join him once more on his horse.

Yet, before Stannis had had a chance to answer – or even before he had had the opportunity to assess if her presence on Fury, pressed against up him, would be more beneficial or detrimental – young Lord Edmure had made his jealousy of his sister riding known. In a rather petulant manner, the lad had made a fuss of also wanting to ride. Stannis had been tempted to point out that Lady Sansa was not actually _riding_ , but _sharing_ his horse. But, of course, the boy’s spoilt tendencies and his sister’s overindulgent nature to him, had followed by Robert’s bastard also expressing an interest in riding. To which the girl Shireen had become panicked - tearing up silently - scared that she was going to be on her own in the wheehouse and would miss out on the story.

The matter – after dragging for a incessant amount of time - had of course concluded with both boys on their own mounts, the girl sharing Lord Edmure’s. All of these resolutions had lost them time as well as had stopped any possibility of a pleasant ride and conversation happening between Lady Sansa and himself. Moreover, it had also eliminated any potential distraction for him and his thoughts from being aware of his wife and her body shifting against his own.

 _...Well_ \- except for this rather peculiar tale.

 

_“...Harry gasped, wrestling with it as the plant continued to curl around his chest, "Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!"_

_"_ Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare _... what did Professor Sprout say? – it likes the dark and the damp...”_

_Harry choked, "So light a fire!"_

_Hermione cried, wringing her hands, "Yes -_ of course _\- but there's no wood!"_

_At this, Ron bellowed from next to Harry, "HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?" ...”*_

 

As he listened in to more of the narration, Stannis wondered about this _Harry Potter_ fellow. Was he the son of a Lord? Or was he a commoner?... – Not for the first time he couldn’t help but wonder from where Lady Sansa had come to know the stories she told. He had never heard of neither this one nor the one about the mermaid. Lady Sansa’s characters always seemed to have a certain strangeness to them. A peculiarity Stannis had a hard time pin-pointing... or at least one that had him perplexed: like all the links he had founds between Lady Sansa and the mermaid princess...

In any case, the story seemed rather ridiculous and outrageous. This older wizard – _Domble–dor...?_ \- was clearly incompetent. He was leading such an unsafe castle for these children. They had been entrusted into his care; it was his duty to make certain they were looked after and safe. Not to bring three-headed dogs, trolls and other dangerous creatures within the walls of his stronghold. Was he not supposed to be a ‘ _great wizard’_? Perhaps it was time he actually acted like one instead of having the youths do all his work for him!

Stannis’ thoughts continued to muse over the story and its characters for a while longer. That is, until he felt a few drops of water fall on his face. All too rapidly the small amount of rain became a torrent, some gave cries of surprised outrage as the pup gave yelps of joy. Since it had started falling hard it was quickly suggested that the youths and Lady Sansa should go within the wheelhouse.

The children went first with the girl’s nurse maid. However, once Stannis helped Lady Sansa down from his horse, instead of following, she looked back at him in concern, her gaze unwavering, unconcerned with the water already dripping down her face, “Will you be staying in the rain?”

Stannis blinked, the answer obvious, “Of course.”

There was a pause in which she seemed to want to say something more, but ultimately gave only a small nod, “Take care to not fall ill, my lord.”

Stannis wanted to scoff that a little rain would not affect him - his body had hardened to withstand worse. Yet, for some reason, something in the way she was continued to stare at him made his throat tighten. Stannis was only able to respond with a stiff nod of his own, before giving her his hand once more, assisting her into the carriage. Her smaller hand leaving his, she gave him a final smile, before joining the others inside.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Sansa gave a long yawn as she felt the wheelhouse at long last come to a stop – still a bit too abruptly for her taste. Looking out from the drapes and wooden slats, she noted the setting of the sun behind the mountains in the distance. At least they were finally stopping for the night, and she could finally properly stretch and unravel the stiffness from travelling. That and looking forward to the bath waiting for her inside. Unfortunately, the crick in her neck didn’t seem like it was be ready to go away any time soon. – It was rather annoying that ever since she had been married, Sansa had been unable to continue her yoga stretching sessions: she could swear to all the different gods that her body was already feeling the deprivation and this wheelhouse travelling was definitely not helping matters.

Only an hour or so after the children and her had taken cover from the rain, into the wheelhouse, the group had stopped by an inn for a lunch, in hope the weather would improve during this time. Regrettably it had only gotten worse, thus Sansa had been stuck in the carriage for the rest of the day. – Not that she should really complain since she was safe inside protected from the downpour, whilst the riders got drenched. It had only been recently, in the last hour, that had the rain calmed and the clouds had cleared somewhat.

Within the carriage she had only to battle boredom and a stuffy space. During this time, Sansa had insisted that the curtains be tied as to let some air enter. She had then proceeded to finish telling _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ to the overeager children. Of course, once done, there had been an instant demand for the start of the young wizard’s tales in second year at Hogwarts Castle. However, Sansa had put her foot down and, instead, had pleaded for a moments rest. Though not a fan of all the rocking, Sansa had not been all that surprised that she had actually been able to fall asleep. She acknowledged that sleep last night had not been the best, especially with the very annoyingly hot and itchy nightgown, and sharing a bed with Lord Stannis (– not to mention, the whole waking up on top of him incident.)

 

The arrival at the tavern and start of the evening proceeded similarly to yesterday. First, there was the greetings from the over exuberant proprietor - more than pleased that Lord of Storm's End had chosen his establishment. Then, as others unpacked of the essentials for the night, the Lord Stannis, Sansa and the other principal guests were brought to the dining area, for an evening meal during which Sansa talked for a short time with Ser Arstan and Ser Eddard but hardly exchanged any words with Lord Stannis as Ser Denys Celtigar claimed most of his attention. To be then followed with the start of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets _ with Edmure, Edric and Shireen.

 

It was only after all this that Sansa was – _finally_ – able to retire to her room for the long awaited bath...

...Unfortunately, her enjoyment of the warm water was not as long as the previous evening.

 

Since he had barely said any words to her and, the previous evening, had come to the room much later than herself, Sansa did not anticipate any different tonight. In turn, she basically leapt out of the tub, mind and body buzzing in alarm, when Mary burst in alerting her in a panicked whisper that, “Lord Baratheon is on his way up the stairs, heading was likely to the room, my lady.”

 

She could have hugged Mary silly, when not a minute later, more or less safely covered, but still wet, Sansa watched as there was a brief knock and the door opened, Lord Stannis entering the room.

As his gaze found hers there was a sharp moment of stillness.

One, evidently, in which Sansa forgot to breathe, her brain seeming to stumble in how to function. During the whole today - as well as most of yesterday really - only very briefly had Lord Stannis been _standing_ and, at that, standing near her. Sansa couldn’t believe she had forgotten how... impressively _tall_ and _large_ he was. It also definitely did not help that taking in the whole of him also brought back certain images from her sleep-induced creep-moment of this morning.

Of course this was not even taking into account that she was now still just in a sheet, her hair and body still damp from her interrupted bath.

With that, it was also more than clear that Lord Stannis had not anticipated that she still be bathing either. At the most singular way his gaze roamed her face and blanket-wrapped body, lingering on the small amount of skin visible, Sansa could feel red begin to seep up her chest onto her cheeks. Under different circumstances, she might have been slightly flattered by his gaze, but the fact that his face didn’t so much as twitch from its stoic pose, and that she was basically naked under her sheet, Sansa only squirmed.

 

Then the moment passed, his eyes shifting for an instant into something close to... _panic?_ – one so brief Sansa not sure if she just imagined it – before Lord Stannis swiftly turned his back to her.

And then silence reigned once more.

Lord Stannis did not speak, or even so much as move an inch from his spot. As for Sansa, also turning around, she allowed Mary to quickly help her into a nightdress. (- Although still frustrated that she had to wear the long hot nightgown again, Sansa in this instance was more relieved that she was wearing something more than a sheet). Dressed, she proceeded to the side table and started combing her hair herself with long quick strokes, as Mary cleared her things from the day.

Lord Stannis must have realised at some point that she was more properly covered since Sansa ultimately heard movement going on in the rest of the room. Still, she forced herself to focus only on her hair.

It was only when Mary left to go and find someone to take care of removing the tub that Sansa stood up and turned around. Unsure of herself, with only the two of them in the room, Sansa felt her fingers weave together. Thoughts shifting from Lord Stannis to Mary and her current task, Sansa briefly toyed with asking him if _he_ required a bath. But then, just as quickly, she realised she absolutely did _not_ want him to possibly bathe naked with her in the room - or her waiting in the hall in only her nightdress, whilst he took his bath -, and thus held her tongue.

Fully looking over at him, it was then that Sansa realised that his focus had shifted to the phone on the bed. - _Her_ iPhone. Sansa had clearly forgotten to put it away before her bath and that Mary had not noticed. Blushing once more, not making eye contact and still not saying anything, she quickly moved to the other side of the bed, took it, and swiftly hid it from view, packing it in her handbag.

Thankfully soon came some form of interruption: the servants needing to retrieve the bath.

Yet the awkwardness and silence of course continued through all of this; as well as when Sansa lid under the sheets on her side of the bed. Lord Stannis continued to do who-knows-what, moving around the room, whilst she thought best to just stare at the ceiling in silence.

And then he joined her in the bed, under the sheets.

And then the last candle was blown.

It was only after a long moment, still unable to sleep, and very much aware that Lord Stannis was also still awake, that Sansa found the courage in the darkness to say very softly, just beyond a whisper, “Good night, Stannis.”

There was another moment of suspension that followed. The shadows and stillness of the room now only made Sansa tense further; so much so that she could not find the strength to look to the side at him. It dragged on for so long that Sansa actually ended up wondering if he had heard her. But then – after what seemed like the 1700 years she had travelled – she heard his rough voice, “Sleep well, Sansa.”

With it, the relief was so great that Sansa had to suppress a hysterical giggle (- Lord Stannis would probably not taking see it in the best light if she laughed out loud). A small comforted smile still on her lips, Sansa only hoped for fewer moments of awkwardness and mortification tomorrow.

 

 _Alas_ , several hours later, the next day did not look all that promising. It was with a silent groan of frustration that Sansa once more woke up from another strange dream, her overly warm body yet again covering Lord Stannis.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Text From _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ , JK Rowling, Chapter 16
> 
> For the dream at the beginning, readers are welcome to try and guess what it was in reference to: it is a ‘past vision’, not a ‘future’ one. Hopefully I wrote enough moments to be able to figure out. ;)


	23. PART II, Chapter 3 - Troubled Minds and Troubled Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE thank you to Sarah_Black for her help for parts of this chapter, for her suggestions and corrections on it :D

 

 

The grumble left his throat as the rain continued to drip from his hood to fall on his cheek and slide down his neck.

Much like the weather, Stannis’ mood had not improved since yesterday. Nor had he slept any better the previous night. If anything his sleep had worsened.

Of course the weather itself was the reason for his foul mood. It had been the sound rain against the windowpanes that had awakened him. - _Yes_ – the _rain_ had woken him. _Not_ his _uncomfortable_ state of body; no matter how much more _pronounced_ _it_ had been than usual. Though, his wife’s presence and troublesome shifting persisting had not facilitated the matter or helped in the quality of his sleep.

At least, the Maiden had small mercies, and his wife had not stirred from her slumber when he did, or, even worse, had woken before him. Stannis was still concerned about how his very innocent, motherhouse-raised wife would react when she would ultimately be made aware of how exactly men and women differed in their anatomy. As such, much like the previous morning, he had quickly and carefully dressed before slipping from the room and going at a brisk pace to the nearest body of water. Not that his wash, or his meal afterwards, had improved his frame of mind. Truthfully, it would most likely continue to worsen if the rainfall was hell-bent on persisting.

 

Stannis would of course have endured this distress with no complaint if he was the only one affected. And yet, he was not the weather’s only casualty. The downpour had forced the youths and his wife to take cover the wheelhouse for the second day running. A poor alternative to enjoying the scenery she seemed to take delight in on the first day of travelling. – The sight of _their_ lands; _his_ and _hers_.

No, instead his wife was rather ill-fated in being stowed away in the carriage where she was most likely uncomfortable from its less than smooth movements, the tight internal space, the many other occupants also inside, and the lack of fresh air.

To add insult to injury, her strange stories were also more than likely suffering. There was no opportunity for the stories to evolve and improve inside the carriage with only the children to listen. Devoid of his guiding presence, Stannis would not be able to take note on where the plot was lacking and advise Lady Sansa how her telling and the substance of her stories could be improved. Not to mention the wheelhouse was not a suitable space to narrate in either. The quality of light and air – or more accurately, its _dimness_ and _stuffiness_ \- was not to an acceptable enough standard, most probably affecting her eyes and throat. All of these factors would make the most attentive of audiences drowsy, by no fault of their own or the tale being told.

How shameful it was that the lady was most likely going to believe that she and her story was the cause. Stannis could already visualise the succession of events. Her confidence, poise and her light-hearted spirit would suffer because of it. Consequently her narrating would be affected and the children would also experience unnecessary distress. Ultimately they would all be desolate, surrounded in a cloud of melancholy.

All because of this blasted weather.

 

At least he would be able to alleviate some of her impeding sorrow.

Well, more accurately, Lord [Ralph Buckler](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Ralph_Buckler) would. Making good time despite the conditions of travel, they would reach Bronzegate before nightfall and his wife would be able to ease her aching body and hopefully some of her inner troubles in full privacy of the castle’s bathhouse, without the possibility of being interrupted mid-wash like she had been the previous evening.

\- _Yes_ , it was true that the disruption had been by Stannis himself. However he was justified in his actions because the disruption had been very much inadvertent... _yes,_ very much _inadvertent_. The day having been long, the ride and weather having worn him out, and without the necessity for a meeting with his men, Stannis had only spent a few moments with Eddard before having felt the need to retire early. (- It had been nothing to do with the fact that he had barely spoke or even seen Lady Sansa during the day as Ser Arstan had jested.) So there: very much an inadvertent action on his part.

And, in any case, he had been just as adversely affected and cursed by the action as Lady Sansa had... even more so, one might argue.

Stannis would never have imagined what he had come across once inside. He had been caught so off guard, it had taken his brain a few moments to actually register what he had walked in on... the steam rising from the still hot water... the damp blanket... the peaking tips of her uncovered toes... her still wet, glistening skin of her shoulder blades gleaming in the candle light... the few droplets gliding down her neck to disappear to an unknown destination... her slightly parted plump wet lips... her cheeks flushed from the heat of the bath... her wide mismatched eyes looking at him... Her red hair in a hasty bun on top of her head... the few loose wet strands framing her face...

The sheet _had_ afforded her a certain level of modesty. And yet, the small amount he could see and the dampness of her body and the sheet had hinted enough for Stannis to be affected. He had only been able to think to turn around before Lady Sansa or her maid would notice how _greatly_ affected he had become. – As innocent as his wife may still be Stannis doubted her lady-in-waiting was, and the girl might certainly have noticed certain telltale signs.

Regardless, once he had entered, it was not like he could not well have left the room. His wife would have thought him mad, wondering why he had entered the room to leave it mere moments later. Additionally, someone would have noticed him in the hall and found it odd that he was standing outside his own door, waiting. Nor could Stannis have returned below stairs. His men would have questioned it; especially since he had stated moments before that he was retiring to his room. More than anything else, he had realised he could not go take another swim outside as the men would have definitely queried on him needing another bath so soon after his last one... No matter how much it had affected the amount of time it had taken to _calm_ himself enough to be able to turn around and be able to ready for bed...

... Not that he had found sleep quickly. Stannis’ thoughts had been so tormented that he had first believed he had imagined her calling his name – her _moaning_ his name - merged with his base thoughts. Thankfully he had realised it had not be a moan but a simple whisper wishing him a ‘ _good night’_.

 

Whatever the case may be, he was not to blame. The chambers were _theirs_ to _share_. They were _married_. And he had notified Lady Sansa as much before the journey had commenced. At any rate, how could he have known that she would still be bathing? Who bathed _every day_? Did she not realise that it was wasteful in many ways?

 _Yes_ , _he_ had recently taken to bathing most days, but _his_ reasons were more out of _necessity_ than anything else. Stannis was more than certain that Lady Sansa did not suffer as he did, as she was not afflicted with the same anatomical features he was burdened with. – _He_ had been the one who had barely slept.

But all this was neither here nor there: he was her husband. _No_ – he was Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He would not be denied entry to his own chambers.

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa was _grumpy_. No, not grumpy, _very_ grumpy.

This in itself was an oddity. Sansa was not a grumpy person.

No, even if she was sometimes a little shy, she would force herself to it and be a very cheery, very welcoming, very open person. _She_ would usually the one to bring everyone else’s mood up.

Even the three times she had been hung-over after not at all judicious nights of drinking too much or during the whole messy breakup with Joffrey, she had never been really grumpy. She had suffered a horrible headache, been dry mouthed, tired, drowsy, dizzy and nauseous when she had been hung-over. After what had happened with Joffrey she had experienced a different sort of nausea, as well as anger and relief. She had relived several of the horrible moments that had led to the ultimate doom of the relationship (- all generated from Joffrey’s end -), and had fallen into a depression of sorts for a while.

And yet, despite coming through all that with her cheerful personality mostly intact here she was: _grumpy_.

Grumpy due to the long hours of travelling, due to the horrible weather, the stuffiness of the wheelhouse (– even with the curtains tied back to let in some air -), due to for the jerkiness of the ride, her really strange dreams, and most of all due to her inability to get a good night’s sleep.

To be fair it was mainly the last two things that had transformed her into a ‘grumpy person’: the nightmarish dreams and the poor sleep.

 

Part of her wanted to blame Lord Stannis, but that would be unfair. Yes, she had been forced to marry him, and now had to share a room with him. But he had not done anything untoward. Even last night, with her literally dripping wet, wearing only a sheet, he had done nothing. Said nothing. He hadn’t even gawked at her. Instead he had been a gentleman and turned around, allowing Sansa to get ready without being spied on. Surprisingly he had yet to do anything in bed either. He had done nothing in the last two days to encourage her to finally ‘ _consummate their marriage vows_ ’. _No_ \- _he_ gave Sansa her privacy and continued to stay on his side of the bed. _Sansa_ was the one who, for the past two nights, had acted like his body was a great pillow. Honestly, Sansa was more than thankful that she had woken up again before him and that he had not found her in her ‘compromising position’. She didn’t mean anything by it, but Lord Stannis might have trouble believing that. The only fault she could actually hold him accountable for was that he was rather bulky and his body did take up quite a large portion of the bed.

And it wasn’t as if it was his presence had actually affected her sleep all that much. Her nightmares had nothing to do with him possibly doing something whilst she was sleeping; taking advantage of the fact that it was only the two of them in the room, and that they shared a bed.

No the true culprit – the one Sansa was more than sure was affecting her brain and body, making her shift so much – were those stupid, really good-for-nothing Dragon Age nightdresses! Sansa would swear to all the different gods that she rarely ever moved in her sleep. It had always been Arya who moved around and basically invaded the whole bed for herself, using any means available: pushing, kicking, scratching, even once biting anyone who dared be in ‘ _her_ sleeping space’. And here again, it hadn’t been Lord Stannis who had forced her to wear those horrendously hot and itchy things. Sansa had decided upon it on her own, to ease his sleep... _Though_ , Sansa _was_ half-convinced that Septa Baela had made sure to pack the most uncomfortable ones so Sansa would not want to sleep in them, and instead would forgo wearing anything at all and just sleep ‘ _as nature intended’_ next to her – ‘ _fully functional’_ – husband.

– Well now it was her turn to have a good night’s rest!

 

When they had left, Sansa had actually been relieved to find the rain had resumed and that she would be in the wheelhouse... more specifically that she would be able to rest in the wheelhouse.

Sansa had quickly learned that one of the benefits of her stories (and the fact that the kids loved her) was that she could bribe them into good obedience with them. Thus she was able to get a couple hours where she could just close her eyes and recover some of her much needed beauty-sleep.

Falling asleep against Lord Stannis while on horseback would have been out of the question. Maybe it was vanity, but Sansa would definitely be even more mortified than she was whenever waking up clinging to him like a koala, if she drooled on him whilst they were riding, and he was awake. The other main reason was the obvious danger that she would accidentally fall off the huge beast of a horse and hurt herself.

 

But even in the carriage, getting good rest was not easy and thus she was groggy and _grumpy_.

 

**.**

 

It was already late afternoon when the rain finally stopped and the skies cleared. (- Sneaking a peak at her watch in her bag, it confirmed that it was just past five -). Leaning her face against the carriage slats, Sansa looked out to spy not only the continuous mountain range in the distance but what appeared to be the start of a forest a little closer. – _The edge of the Kingswood?_

During the whole of the day Sansa had passed the time in and out of restless naps, going between laying her head against the jerky carriage’s wooden surfaces beneath the cushions, telling the kids about how Harry Potter survived his second year at Hogwarts School, and listening to Mary and Shireen’s nurse-maid, Sarra*’s gossiping, to battling boredom and her grumpy condition. The only short reprieve of the whole day had been lunch in another tavern along the road.

She would like to assume – _believe_ \- that it was because they were too close to their next destination that the men (- _Lord Stannis_ -) had not stopped the carriage and asked those inside the wheehouse (- _me_ -) if they wanted to ride. The other probability was of course that the men (- _Lord Stannis_ -) did not care for more company (- _for me to join him on his horse_ -), or had simply forgotten about them (- _me -_ )... -

\- _No, stop it Sansa_! _\- Maybe he is just not feeling all that convivial and cordial today_.

Sansa _had_ noticed that Lord Stannis _had_ been less than sociable and responsive during lunch. - _Well_ , he had been even more silent and brooding than usual, that is; even when first the royal delegate and then Ser Eddard had tried to speak with him. Clearly travelling in such weather conditions had not agreed with the Lord of Storm's End. (– _Well, at least he doesn’t have a very hot, really itchy nightgown that some crazy old lady packed in his trunk to make sure he slept naked to encourage him to make mini-him babies_!)

Sansa let out a small longing – maybe also slightly grumpy – sigh. – _I just want out of this stupid carriage! It’s not like I would not make much noise: I could just sit quietly. And I don’t weigh much either. He would barely notice I am there on the horse with him... I just want to get out and stretch my legs a bit... feel the breeze on my face... properly enjoy the view..._ -

-“... and the children will be pleased for more agreeable rooms.”

The voices of the other two women breaking through her grumbling, Sansa turned to face them, breathing out, “ _Pardon_?”

The nurse-maid’s pleasant demeanour seemed to drop ever so slightly at the question. Sarra looked from Sansa to the dosing children and back again, “My lady, I was only sayin’ that the children, they will most likely be most pleased to receive the hospitality of Bronzegate Castle. Meetin’ Lord Buckler and his lady–wife, and youths their own age... as well as havin’ their own chambers for the night.”

By the way her eyes brightened at the last remark, it was clear to Sansa that _Sarra_ was also looking forward to staying somewhere other than the cramped space she had been sharing with Shireen and the boys for the last two days.

“Oh. Of course, yes. Do Lord and Lady Buckler have many children?”

“Two daughters, I believe.”

Sansa’s eyes fell on the sleeping form that was Shireen at the answer. A small smile on formed on her lips, “Girls for Shireen. That would be nice. She has only been truly surrounded by boys so far.”

Mary supplied something about Shireen having opened up more with the boys in the last few weeks and be merrier. However, simultaneously, Sansa’s own smile dimmed, as she thought of one ‘ _boy’_ whose interactions were still very minimal with the three year old... The exchanges between Lord Stannis and his daughter were still very much _lacking_ , to say the least. - By now, for the few weeks she had spent in Storm's End and the many people she had talked to, Sansa had become conscious that Lord Stannis’ marriage to Lysa Tully had not been all that great. If anything, it seemed that it had been rather _cold_. And, of course, there was the matter of Lord Stannis still very much wanting a son or two; the way he sometimes looked at Edmure and Renly and even sometimes even Edric only confirmed _that_ further. But none of this really gave a good enough justification to his overly distant relationship with his _own_ _daughter_.

... Nor could it be that she looked too much like her mother.

\- _By the Gods_ , Sansa was sure she had actually noticed him _stiffen_ around Shireen, when the little girl had approached too close to him. It, in fact, seemed that he would actively avoid her, if possible.

Sansa’s brows came closer together, her heart swirling in confusion, resentment, and wretchedness.

 _No_ \- _something_ must have happened. Though obviously it couldn’t have been Shireen herself who had done this _something_ to earn her father’s censure: she was only three... Had someone else done something?... Had _Lord Stannis_ done something... or _not_ done something?... Had... Had _Lysa_ done something?

Looking up to Mary and Sarra, Sansa wondered if she could and should ask them – as sneakily and delicately as possible – the source of the divide between father and daughter.

Truthfully, it would be even better – not to mention, less underhanded - if she asked _him_ directly. But Sansa couldn’t help but worry that questioning him directly might make things worse, not only for _their_ – Lord Stannis’ and hers – emerging relationship but mostly for Shireen.

The thoughts and questions continued to twist and rotate in her mind, her headache growing, as Sansa forced her face to remain pleasant and to add a remark ever now and then on the ongoing conversation.

Thankfully, another distraction came soon. Passing over a larger bump in the road, the wheelhouse shook enough to stir Edmure from his sleep. After giving a great big moan, he slowly lifted himself in a sitting position. Rubbing his eyes, her _‘brother’_ gave out a great big yawn, before looking to the dimming of light coming from outside, to the other two ladies and then to Sansa,

“Are we there yet?”

 

**.**

 

When the travelling party finally reached Bronzegate not too long later, much like the proprietors of the last few days, Lord and Lady Buckler were more than welcoming. They were so thrilled that Lord Baratheon staying at their castle, that him and Sansa were greeted by the whole household standing in the main courtyard and they actually got down to one knee and rather low curtsies when Lord Stannis had dismounted. It was as if they greeted a ruler on his royal visit. (- To be fair, his grandmother _had_ been a Targayren princess, making Lord Stannis a slightly-distant royal relation.) Sansa, for herself, was silently relieved for them that it had stopped raining.

Of course the Buckler family had also greeted the royal envoy, Lord Tully’s heir and the rest of the knights with a proper amount of decorum but Sansa couldn’t help but think that Lord Buckler’s salutation to Lord Stannis had a bit more passionate and wholehearted when greeting _his_ liege-lord.

Even once inside, whilst the men went the-gods-know-where, Lady Buckler led Sansa to the chamber that had been prepared for Lord Stannis and herself, while chatting the whole journey how _pleased_ and _fortunate_ she was to welcome the new Lady of Storm's End into her home, and that _her_ ‘ _sweetlings’_ had met the Lord of Storm's End’s daughter.

In all fairness, praise _was_ due to Lady Buckler and her household. Along the way to her chambers, Lady Buckler stated that the rockery and the castle’s ravens were available, if Sansa so required-wanted to send her lord father – _the Lord of the Riverlands_ \- or her uncle – _the legendary Blackfish_ \- a missive. As for her rooms: they were simply _wonderful_. With a lovely view of the Kingswood in the distance, they were maybe not has stunning and rich as those Sansa had slept in at Storm's End, but Lady Buckler’s maids and most likely the lady herself had clearly spent quite a lot of time making them as beautiful and comfortable as possible; – more so than Sansa had hoped for or truly needed.

The same could also be said for the bathhouse she invited to use...

And the feast they were served in the castle’s Great Hall...

 

After taking a few first needed bites of her meal, Sansa felt her stomach finally relax as much as her muscles had in the bath. Content, grumpiness a far distant thing, Sansa let out a small fulfilled sigh. At long last, her humour seemed to be getting back to its usual self.

– This _is the life_... well, _the Dragon Age life anyway_. _It would be even better if they had Jacuzzis and Netflix... but let’s not get greedy._

No, the only thing Sansa really needed now was a good rest.

But first she would play the happy guest: it would be overly rude and terrible of her to not show the full extent of her appreciation to all the castle’s efforts. Looking up from her plate, Sansa took in the length of the high-table and then the lower tables. She noted that, like herself, the others of the travelling party also seemed refreshed and had changed into cleaner, nicer clothes. Her gazing returning to those closer, she was pleased to note that both Edmure and Edric looked rather damper. Shireen looked beautiful as she nodded shyly at the two fair-haired girls next to her who were lloking at her in equal interest.

Turning to the other side, Sansa was surprised to observe how fine even Lord Stannis looked in his dark jerkin. – _Although,_ the leather was _still_ black. Sansa couldn’t help but muse that she really had to inform him, or his squire, that a dark blue colour would suit him a lot better and make him look less stern. Then again, maybe Lord Stannis first needed to actually improve on his facial expressions... Continuing to discreetly look in her husband’s direction, Sansa felt slightly sorry for Lord Buckler, as it was clear that - even if he was revived from the day’s travel and was no long scowling - Lord Stannis still rather looked rather stiff and had little interest in being sociable, even with his host...

Sansa eyebrows twitched when suddenly another thought entered her mind: _when_ and _where_ had Lord Stannis bathed, shaved, and changed?...

 

However before she could give the brief mussing much thought, Lady Buckler started speaking to her once more, calling for Sansa’s full attention, “My Jane** and Tommy** seem to be getting on wonderfully with your niece, Lady Baratheon.”

Turning her face back to the left of the high-table, Sansa’s eyes flickered quickly once more to Shireen, before giving the other woman a pleasant smile, “Yes, she is. Your daughters seem to have her enthralled.”

“My sweetlings are rather enchanting, are they not?”

As she continued to watch them, Sansa remembered her earlier shock to learn that Lady Buckler, though only _two_ years older than Sansa, had already had not two but _three_ daughters (– to be fair to Sarra’s misinformation, the third _was_ still a baby, not even a year old).

There was of course only one possible answer to give such a question. Sansa smiled back at the young proud mother as she agreed, “Yes, they are.”

“But of course Lady Shireen will most likely become even more beautiful than I could ever hope for my own daughters, when she grows up. With her fiery red hair and beautiful blue eyes - so unique to the Tully ladies - she will leave many men all around Westeros with a broken heart. It is no wonder Lord Baratheon took not one but two of the Tully daughters to be his wife.”

Sansa could have sworn she felt a twitch from her right, from Lord Stannis, at the comment. However, instead on wondering on it, Sansa responded to her hostess’ compliment, “Thank you, my lady. I am certain that my sister would have been just as delighted and blushing by your praise as I am.”

Lady Buckler beamed at Sansa’s reply. Lowering her voice slightly, she returned, “I must confess that I have no greater joy than my three girls. When I first married Lord Buckler, I was so nervous at the thought of having my own household and family. Now, I could not imagine anything better. I take such joy in running the household, doing my duty, and _they_ make it all the more wonderful.”

Looking past Sansa momentarily, Lady Buckler then conspiringly added, “Lord Ralph was more than pleased with his daughters as well. If anything, he is reassured by the fact that I had three births, all with no complications, which only proves further that I _am_ still young and healthy.”

Sansa blinked, not certain how to respond to the comment, “Yes... of course. I am certain you will have many more children, my lady.”

Lady Buckler gave her a firm nod with her smile, clearly happy that Sansa agreed with her account.

“In her latest letter, my cousin reminded me that she has given [Lord Fell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lord_Fell)’s heir a son, the little lord [Harwood Fell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Harwood_Fell). But she seems to have forgotten that she gave him a daughter and a stillbirth before his heir. In any case, my mother had two daughters – my sister and myself - before she had my brothers.”

Understanding filled Sansa. – _Ah. Of course, the much wanted son_... - Clearly, no matter how happy Lady Buckler was with her three beautiful daughters, she was also slightly anxious to not have had a boy yet. Wanting to reassure the young woman further, Sansa gave her another smile, as she supplied, “My mother also had three beautiful daughters before Edmure was born.”

Thankfully the comment seemed to have done its job as Lady Buckler’s beamed further at Sansa – her gaze momentarily going to Hoster Tully’s heir.

On the other hand, Lady Buckler clearly did not know the right thing to say to _Sansa_ and definitely ruined the moment by stating, “As I am sure you will give Lord Baratheon many sons.”

Sansa was barely able to keep the smile on her face, her throat tightening slightly, as she tried to find an appropriate reply, “Why, t-thank you, my lady.”

\- _No need to mention that the fact that Lord Baratheon and I have yet to do the necessary deed for_ that _to happen_... _or that_ _I am not all that eager to have Lord Baratheon’s ‘many sons’, and that I have some lovely 20th Century_ _pill_ s _to not make sure I not have those ‘sons’_...

 

Finding herself wanting to change the subject, Sansa asked, “You mentioned a sister, my lady. Is she also married?”

Unfortunately, from the dim in Lady Buckler’s smile, it was obviously had been the wrong question to ask.

“My sister died from a winter-fever when she was but ten. I was nine and also caught it but it seemed the Seven were kinder to me.”

“ _Oh_. I am sorry for your loss, my lady. Though it was a while ago, it is clear that you still miss her very much.”

“N-not a day goes by that I do not think of her. Thank you Lady Baratheon, your words are very much appreciated.”

Her thoughts going to her own family, Sansa placed her hand delicately on the other woman’s, “I understand how you feel, my lady. No matter how much time passes, there is always something that reminds you of those you lost. Whether it be a smile on a stranger’s face, the smell of a dish, the certain way the wind blows in the trees... it reminds you of a specific memory you two shared or that you had of them.“

Lady Buckler sorrow turned to mortification, clinging more tightly to Sansa’s hand “Oh, my lady! I am so foolish. Here you are comforting me on a loss that happened more than a decade ago, when I should be the one to console you for your own loss; - _your_ sister died not even a year ago.”

Sansa had actually been thinking of Arya, Stann and Jon, but she couldn’t well correct the other woman and say she had never known Lysa Tully. Instead, she returned the gesture with a small smile, “Loss is loss my lady, however recent or faraway it may be.”

“It is a true shame that I never had the pleasure of meeting your elder sister, Lady Baratheon. I am certain she was just as kind-hearted and wise as you are.”

While the compliment was nice to receive, Sansa’s eyebrows came closer together, “You never met the previous Lady Baratheon?”

“Oh no, never. I married Lord Buckler more than a year after Lord Baratheon’s wedding and had passed by Bronzegate. And last year, Lord Baratheon and your sister sailed to and from Kings Landing, for their visit.”

“They sailed to Kings Landing?”

“Why yes... much to my husband’s dismay.”

At the affirmation, Sansa recalled that Lord Stannis had retrieved Bryce Caron by _ship_. In addition, Ser Eddard had commented Lord Stannis’ partiality for sailing. With these, she could not help but wonder - _Why have we not sailed as well?_

Evidently, the question was visible on Sansa’s confused features. From Lady Buckler’s upset pout, it was clear that her hostess was troubled by the possibility that Sansa was wondering on the other ways to Kings Landing that did not pass by her home. Wanting to quickly ease the other woman’s potentially wounded pride, Sansa quickly voiced the issue in a altered manner, “Why would they risk the open waters when the journey by land is so enjoyable?” – _The sleeping parts not included, obviously_...

“It is said to be faster, my lady. Lord Buckler and myself could not well hold it against Lord Baratheon for wanting to return to Storm's End faster. Presently, of course, with the summer upon us now the warm air above the sea tends to create turbulent storms; powerful thunderstorms even. Particularly when meeting the cooler winds from the Red Mountains, the weather is usually unsettled and stormy. – Or that is how my Lord Ralph explained it to me. I can only assume that Lord Baratheon being such an avid sailor, with a clear understanding of the Stormlands and its surrounding cliffs and waters, thought better than to place you into such possible dangers.”

At the last comment, Sansa was reminded that Lord Stannis’ parents had perished at sea, actually very close to Storm's End, by those ‘ _surrounding cliffs’_. Sneaking a glance at her husband, Sansa felt a moment of approval and support for him. It was with a sense of reassurance and relief to know that, at least, his own loss had not convinced Lord Stannis to banish all that had drawn his interest for the activity in the first place, or stopped him from continuing to enjoy sailing now.

Evidently, Lady Buckler’s next comment proved, however, that the earlier statement had not made the comment in reference to Lord Stannis’ personal history, but only possibly as praise for him as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. - Following Sansa’s gaze, she whispered conspiringly, “In truth, my lord husband is rather keen to make the most of this warm air and turbulent storms. It is his secret wish that his young cousin, [Brus Buckler](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Brus_Buckler), be sent to squire at Storm's End, and then possibly, in time, also our future son. He is rather envious that Lord Estermont’s son and young Lord Caron are wards of your husband.”

At the remark, Sansa looked from Lord Stannis to notice that Lord Ralph Buckler _was_ still trying – rather in vain – to encourage her husband into conversation. Feeling slightly sorry for Lady Buckler’s husband that was clearly out of his depths, Sansa thought it best not to point out to Lady Buckler that Andrew Estermont was Lord Stannis’ _cousin_ and that Bryce Caron had become a ward when basically his whole family (- all but his half-brother, one of Lord Stannis’ trusted knights -) had died. Instead she only turned back to smile at the other woman.

Though this only encouraged Lady Buckler to whisper further, “I admit that I find irresistible the idea of a growing relationship not only between our two houses but a friendship between us, my lady.”

Sansa smile increased, “Thank you, Lady Buckler. That is most kind of you to say, I would be very pleased to be able to call you my friend.”

Lady Buckler looked at Sansa like she had just told her the Spice Girls were getting back together, “I am _so_ thrilled that you say that, my lady... That and... that is... I ... well...” a small blush appeared on the young woman’s cheeks, “I have another confession, my lady... There has been talk that Lord Baratheon youngest brother - although only ten and twelve - is already as handsome as Ser Robert, but with Lord Baratheon's sensible and wise guidance to steer him. I cannot deny to you that a match between one of my daughters and the brother of the Lord of Storm's End would be glorious.”

Sansa blinked. Twice. – Wasn’t her eldest daughter only a few months younger than Edric?

Though, the more Sansa thought about it, the more she recognised that this was probably what high-borns thought about the most: alliances and who they and their children would one day marry... Lord Stannis and Ser Brynden had already made that more than abundantly clear to her.

In any case, at least Lady Buckler wasn’t too heedless and greedy, reaching for too high. She had only mentioned the _possibility_ of a union between the Lord of Storm’s End _brother_ (- not a future heir –) and one of her daughters. Not to mention, she was bold enough and had a sufficient amount of gumption to make the most of sharing her table with Lady Baratheon enough to at least make such a suggestion.

No matter how tactless the twenty year old possibly was or wasn’t, Sansa did not have the heart to tell her that as far as Renly was concerned, though he was a lovely boy, he was rather impulsive and reckless. - Those were maybe _not_ the best attributes for your daugter’s possible future husband. – Nor could she say that as much as Renly loved games, sword playing and hunting, would run laughing through the halls of Storm's End, enjoyed stories of knights (- and her modern stories -), he had yet to show any true interest in girls... (- _Not to mention, that his eye for bright colours and fabrics are not the best indicator that he ever will_.)

So as an alternative, Sansa replied with a slightly forced smile, “I will mention the idea to Lord Baratheon for our journey back to Storm's End... this as well as the possibility of your husband’s cousin to squire with us.”

If it were at all possible, Lady Buckler face beamed further at the promise.

Though, before she could give any possible reply or thanks, Sansa decided best to speak up once more (- particularly on the off-chance the other woman suggested any other possible ways of an alliance -), “Unfortunately, it may be time for some of us to find beds for the night. Truthfully, Lady Buckler, as we still have quite a long journey ahead of us, I think it would be wise for the children and myself if we retire for the evening.”

Indeed, looking past Lady Buckler, Sansa had already noticed that Shireen and even one of the Lady Buckler’s daughters’ faces drooping, ready to fall into their plates. Although looking slightly put out by the suggestion, Lady Buckler had also clearly seen the exhaustion in her own children’s faces (- that, as well as most likely not wanting to deny Sansa anything -) and quickly agreed, “Of course, Lady Baratheon you are most observant.”

 

Thinking over her decision, Sansa became even more thankful for it as she came to also realise that retiring so early would most likely give her more time to properly ready herself for bed before Lord Stannis joined, stopping any possible ‘ _accidental flashing_ ’.

_Speaking of which..._

Awareness becoming clearer by the second, Sansa turned to look at Lord Stannis. Truthfully, she could also note the fatigue on his face as well, and was tempted to suggest that he also go to bed. Though _that_ suggestion, of course, would be in direct opposition to alleviating her fear of an embarrassing repeat of the previous evening.

Decided, she lightly placed her hand on his arm to get his attention – and feeling a sight twitch in return, one that wasn’t an actual flinch. Not a moment later, his dark blue eyes met her own lighter blue ones. The turn was so swift and sudden that Sansa thought he was going to reprimand her. But no words came; he only stared back at her, _waiting_... and _waiting_...

 _... Right_ – he was _waiting_ for _her_ to speak. Definitely flustered by her stupidity (- and his uninterrupted gaze -), Sansa lowered her gaze, breaking their previous contact, and, instead, leaned in to whisper, “My lord, the youths will be retiring now. I thought it sensible for me to retire as well. – Will... will you be staying down here for much longer?”

With the question and the pause that followed, Sansa hoped that he understood that she wanted at least enough time to undress and ready for bed before he joined her.

He _was_ obviously quite tired, though, as his voice was more than rough and strangled, when he finally answered, “No, not too long. - _Hum_ , _hum_... G-good night, my lady.”

Still slightly flushed, as well as very much conscious that his stare was still on her, Sansa automatically replied, “Good night, my lord.”

 

It was only as she started to rise from her chair that Sansa _frowned_... though not sure as to _why_?...

Her mind continued to buzz in uncertainty as she finished standing... as well as whilst she bid the rest of the table a good evening... Her confusion persisted when she moved to Shireen, Edmure and Edric, and shepherded them with Mary and Sarra towards the Great Hall’s main doors... and through them...

...

It was only as they reached they reached the staircase that Sansa finally grasped what had her troubled... it was Lord Stannis’ words: _‘Good night, my lady’.._. - He had wished her a _‘good night’_... to _her_... _Sansa_.

Why had he wished her a good night at the table?...

...

 

Unless...

...

 

Sansa groaned her slowness, before suppressing a most unladylike snort.

... _Oh, by all the gods, I am an idiot_.

 

As they had shared a room the last two nights, Sansa had automatically assumed that they – Lord Stannis and herself - would be sharing a room tonight as well.

But they were in a castle tonight! Though not as large as Storm's End, Bronzegate could fill its whole garrison and household as well as the travelling party rather comfortably. - Sarra _had_ pointed out earlier that the children would be having their own chambers for the night... Not to mention that Lord and Lady Buckler were clearly putting every effort into making Lord Stannis and Sansa stay as enjoyable as possible...

Of course the Lord of Storm's End and his wife would each have their own chambers! – As a great lady, _she_ – _Sansa_ – had her own rooms...

... Which also actually explained _how_ Lord Stannis had been able to bathe and dress without Sansa noticing or being present...

 

But wait! - She had her own chambers!... for just _her_...

Sansa stopped in the middle of the chairs as the full realisation of what this meant sunk in...

... it meant a few moments on her iPhone or iPad,... it meant listening to some non-Dragon Age music,... it meant finally being able to stretch her weary-travelled body into a few yoga poses...

... but most importantly: it meant no Dragon Age nightgowns! She was finally going to be able to sleep!

 

This time she made no effort to hold back the less-than-polished cry of joy that escaped her throat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - For her continual and amazing help with story I have decided to give Sarah_Black a more prominent role in the story, as Shireen’s nurse-maid, Sarra (taking care of Sansa's fav cupcake) ;P
> 
> ** - No idea if Lord Buckler had any daughters and what their names were – none are mentioned on the Wiki A Song of Ice and Fire website -, but I decided to give a small prize to the first 2 people who guessed correct for Sansa’s dream in the previous chapter! It was Summerhall! – Good job to Jane_s_Red_Rabbit and our marvellous TommyGinger!  
> (Will also say – in addition to my individual replies for the previous chapter - Sansa dreaming of the Summerhall tragedy _is_ a forewarning for later in the story (as well as the gods educating her on past Dragon Age events, of course))


	24. PART II, Chapter 4 – Past, Present and Future Companions

 

 

“... _I thought it sensible for me to retire as well. – Will... will you be staying down here for much longer_?”

 

The sentence repeated for the hundredth time in his mind. Stannis’ jaw involuntarily flexed at the fact. It seemed rather odd, not to mention _absurd_ , that this simple inquiry _still_ had him in flux, several hours after having been spoken.

Naturally, it had been only customary that his wife notified him when she wanted to retire. On the other hand, _why_ had she asked if he would be staying much longer? – As her lord and husband, he had no obligation to inform her where he would be at all times of the day or night...

And yet, this latest question was not the reason his wife’s words continued to take hold of him. The truth of the matter was - just like his eyes would find themselves shifting to Lady Sansa’s form on his mount more often than not - ever since his wife had uttered those parting words and then had looked at him in the oddest manner, Stannis’ mind had not been able to think of much else. Just as last eve, Lady Sansa’s bemused face stood at the forefront of his mind. At the time, Stannis had not been able to look away. His eyes followed as she had guided the maids and youths out of the Great Hall. Then and still now, Stannis was unable to stop wondering – ever so incredibly - if she had meant for him to join her? - Had her inquiry been her feminine-innocent way of asking Stannis to join her in her chambers?

_No_ – surely not. Surely she had only thought to ensure he would get his rest, before continuing their journey come daylight. (- _Though,_ Stannis should probably remind his wife that he was grown and astute enough to know and decide when he should withdraw for rest. She was not his nursemaid, deciding on his sleep.)

Yet, when he had retired to the chambers given to him, Stannis had been pulled to the door connecting his rooms to his wife’s rooms; his thoughts leading him to wonder if she was already in bed... _asleep_? Or, if she was still awake? If she was waiting for him?

Even after ultimately convincing himself that these musings were ridiculous (- and it was best to not enter and force his presence on her more than was necessary -), her words and expression had lingered, making his sleep just as restless as the previous nights... As they still did now: throughout the morning, whilst Lady Sansa had narrated more of her bizarre stories to the youths, and this afternoon, as they continued their ride through the Kingswood, whilst the children napped in the wheelhouse.

 

“What did you think of our visit to Bronzegate, Lord Stannis?”

The question reaching him through his musings, Stannis looked down to find that his wife had shifted her position on the mount and had turned her head to some degree to look up at him.

His throat suddenly going slightly tight, his response was brief, “It was well enough.”

Her eyes widened, if only for a moment, “ _Just_ well enough? I thought Lord and Lady Buckler were very gracious hosts. Their welcome, the guest chambers, the feast... I felt being treated as royalty.”

Stannis silently agreed. Lord Buckler had been more than accommodating. Personally, though, he would have preferred less of all the flourish and fanfare of their visit. He had been more interested in recuperating on his rest from the days on the road (– _there was no need to delve more into how_ that _had turned out_ ).

“... And, not to mention, I found Lady Buckler very sweet and pleasant...”

Yes, Stannis had noticed. Truthfully, Lady Sansa’s parting words of last eve were not only ones he continued to think on. As pleased as he had been at the state of Bronzegate, the castle still strong and well stocked, Stannis’ attention at the evening meal had more been to what Lady Buckler and his wife were speaking of; more interested catching bits of their conversation.

“... even if, she was obviously nervous of our visit, and felt the need to impress us as much as possible. Hopefully, on our return, she will be able to be more at ease.”

Although he was tempted to say that his vassals should never feel completely _at ease_ \- the behaviour leading to laziness - Stannis could concur with the observation and responding remark. His attention had actually first been pulled to their conversation at the mention of Lysa’s girl. - Lady Buckler, clearly eager to please his wife, had complimented the little girl’s beauty, going so far as to point out how so similar her features were to her Tully mother’s. Just as it had then, Stannis’ jaw clenched; – if only those features gave more of a sign as to the girl’s true father’s appearance, Stannis would have not been so easily deceived for so long by his late-wife.

From there, Lady Buckler’s proclamation had only worsened when she had stated, “ _she will leave many men all around Westeros with a broken heart. It is no wonder Lord Baratheon took not one but two of the Tully daughters to be his wife._ ”

With it, Stannis had held back a harsh retort. The fact that he had gotten two Tully brides had nothing to do with their _beauty_. If anything his betrothals and marriages proved that _beauty_ can be treacherous. Beauty was the bane of honour, the death of duty. He had learned that lesson time and time again.* He had gotten his first wife – second betrothed - when the _northern_ _beauty_ had caught the prince’s eye. And he had gotten his second bride when his _beautiful_ first wife had dared try to kill him, after being seduced by another. - Stannis had actually to stop himself from scoffing heatedly when Lady Buckler had suggested that Lysa was as “ _kind-hearted and wise_ ” as Lady Sansa.

“W-was your evening with Lord Buckler as... agreeable?

Stannis shifted ever so slightly, unease running through him at the enquiry. He couldn’t well say that the few times he had truly listened to Lord Buckler was when the two ladies had lowered their voices to undistinguishable whispers. It had been rather frustrating when Stannis unable to hear what they spoke of. He had found it even more disconcerting when their gazes would momentarily turn towards Lord Buckler and himself – had they talked about him? About his marriage to Lady Sansa? Had she said anything as to being disappointed to being his wife?... Surely she had not mentioned their disastrous wedding?

Realising he had yet to respond, Stannis stated, “Lord Buckler appears capable enough to provide for those in his care...”

At her blank stare, he quickly remembered something else Lord Buckler had mentioned, “... He spoke of [Brus Buckler](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Brus_Buckler), his young cousin. The boy is apparently only a couple of years younger Renly. Lord Buckler seemed somewhat concerned on the lad’s instructions.”

The Bronzegate lord _had_ seemed rather fond – even _fervent_ \- of his youthful cousin, and the boy’s training. The subject had in fact spanned for a great portion of the meal.

Nonetheless, Stannis had to acknowledge that since Lord Buckler had yet to have a son, the focus on his young relation was understandable. Even the ladies’ conversation had turned to children. (– _On the other hand, it was only natural that women ultimately talked of children and possible future children_. -) Stannis could only hope that some of the discussion and Lady Buckler’s influence had encouraged Lady Sans into wanting children - _his_ children. It was high time that they finally did their duty... and that he would be closer to having his heir.

From the evolution of their talk, Stannis certainly had hope. The conversation continued to offer a certain level of clarity and reassurance as to the subject of his heir. Lady Sansa _had_ mentioned her own mother and the fact the Lady Minisa Tully had had several daughters before Lord Edmure’s birth. Moreover, when Lady Buckler had wished that she be able to “ _give Lord Baratheon many sons_ ”, Lady Sansa had appeared rather content by the statement and had thanked the other woman... It certainly seemed that Lady Sansa was indeed coming round to his way of thinking.

– _Though_...

Stannis frowned thoughtfully. Did Lady Sansa have a preference for daughters? Did she dream of a close companionship with a daughter of her own? She was rather attached to Lysa’s girl. Was this why she had mentioned her own mother’s many daughters? As well as looking rather thoughtfully at Lady Buckler’s daughters and the girl, Shireen?... In truth, Stannis would not be opposed to one or a few daughter – daughter of _his_ seed that is. Daughters did have their role in helping encourage alliances with other Houses and regions. Still, it was preferable that his heir arrived first... as well as possibly even a spare.

Unfortunately, the conversation had not offered more to think one way or the other. Instead, the two women’s talk had evolved to speak of their personal losses. As they had continued speaking - as well as now, once more - Stannis wondered if Lady Sansa had actually meant her sister in the role of the person she had recently lost. As Cressen had previously indentified, the two Tully sisters _had_ barely known each other (as well as being relatively dissimilar). Indeed, a certain amount of affection and feeling of loss was understandable for the death of a family member. Stannis was confident he would feel _something_ if Robert died. He would certainly mourn Renly, especially if he lost him while still quite young. – None should lose his life so early. It was a biter reality that more often this was the case.

However, Lady Sansa had barely shown any sort of reaction when first informed of Lysa’s death. _No_ \- the more he thought about it, the more Stannis was becoming certain that Lady Sansa had been thinking about another loss. Which posed the question: _who_?

Stannis’ eyes looked down to his wife’s form, considering the matter.

Cressen had informed him that Lady’s Sansa’s whole party had perished during her journey to Storm's End? In addition to the knights, a companion had been mentioned in the lady’s own accounts of her tragic arrival. Did she feel the loss of her soldiers and the other woman? Stannis would most certainly feel the loss of Eddard – sometimes more a brother than his own (though for Renly, he occasionally saw him more in a fatherly light) - or Jon Arryn – his mentor and a second father of sorts when his own had died. The same could he said of his closest knights, having shared an extensive part of his life and castle with them.

“... is getting along well with your wards...”

Stannis blinked as Lady Sansa’s soft voice continued to speak. Stuck in his thoughts, he - shamefully - had not listened to his wife. He could only hope she had not asked him another question and he had not missed his cue.

On the other hand, by now, Stannis was even less interested in continuing to speak about Lord and Lady Buckler. In its place he found himself very much wanting in more information about Lady Sansa and her life previously to becoming his wife. – Though, evidently it would be thoughtless of him to mention her past companion directly...

“... and Renly seems more than ready to welcome more friends to sword fight with.”

Catching the last of Lady Sansa’s words, the opening seemed good enough for him to break in,

“At the motherhouse, you had a few girls your own age to play and converse with?”

The question oddly seemed to please Lady Sansa, “Yes. I had a quite few. Myranda, Shae, the two Jeynes – that is ‘ _Blonde Jeyne’_ and ‘ _Brunette Jeyne’_. Growing up, we would always be together, going to sch- _lessons_ together, comparing our work, gossiping of girly things, the different fashion trends, who’s brother or sister was the most annoying, which boy Myranda fancied that particular month and what she would do about it... Though of course for the other stuff there was _Arya_.”

There was a pause after the last name mentioned, Lady Sansa’s throat seeming to have stumbled slightly. Stannis could only assume this ‘ _Arya_ ’ was the one who had perished on her travels.

Stannis shifted awkwardly on his saddle, still unsure if he should proceed into such a delicate territory (- as well as hoping Lady Sansa would not burst into tears at the topic of her companion -), “ _Arya_... she was your... friend?”

With a small nod and smile, Lady Sansa confirmed, “Yes she was.”

“I assume you were fairly close?”

“Y-yes. She travelled south to the Stormlands with me.” The sorrow in her voice grew to some degree, “Yes... she is - _was_ \- like a sister to me, one a year younger.”

All the more intrigued, wondering on the character of the person his wife had obviously considered her closest companion, Stannis asked, “Was she also highborn lady, the daughter of a lesser lord?”

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa held back a snort at the ‘ _lesser lord_ ’ remark as well as the description of Arya as a _‘highborn lady’_ ; all the while trying to ignore the slight pain in the pit of her stomach talking of her cousin who she missed dearly.

 

Sansa was more than pleased that Lord Stannis was so engaging in the conversation. Not to mentioned he actually listened as she had done as promised to Lady Buckler  and had started hinting to Lord Buckler’s cousin coming to Storm's End. It was definitely nice - warming - that Lord Stannis was interested in her and what she had to say, and was now actually being rather engaging in their conversation.

Unfortunately, because of this development, Sansa was reluctant to try and shut down the current direction of the talk, even if slightly painful to talk about her cousin...

Thinking on his question, it was rather first rather obvious to Sansa that she couldn’t well explain to Lord Big and Mighty that Arya was the daughter of the Starks of the North, a family older than _House Baratheon_ , the line dating back thousands of years, descending from [Bran the Builder](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Bran_the_Builder).

So instead, she decided correct the other remark in his enquiry, “Oh, Arya was no lady. She would have most likely punched the first person who dared called her one. In fact, I think that’s how she first met Gendry...”

At the searching look on his face, Sansa expanded, “Gendry... her _beau... beloved.”_ Her tone some of its cheer once more, she added looking down at her hands placed on her lap, “Gendry was also on the trip with us... Wherever they are now, I can only hope that they are together and they are happy.”

There was a slight pause before Lord Stannis asked, “They were married?”

This time, Sansa was unable to stop the slight unladylike snort – “ _No_. Arya was definitely not ready to get tied down. And as romantic as Gendry was, he did tend to be like a bull in a porcelain shop, which definitely didn’t help their rather animated relationship. In any case, they were both way too young. Arya’s father would never have let her marry so young. He would have probably shot Gendry if they had... – _hum -_ that is shot him with an arrow.”

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis blinked the account sounding more and more absurd with each word. What father would approve of his daughter spending so much time around a young man, to the point of travelling together and not demand the lad to marry his daughter? Not to mention, from Lady Sansa’s account, it was clear that they had shared a certain level of intimacy that no parent should allow before at least the bans were read.

On the other hand, the relationship described with this rather brazen girl did explain some of his bride’s more difficult moments. As sorry as Stannis was for Lady Sansa on her profound loss, he could not help but be thankful that _Arya_ was no longer about to influence his wife.

Lady Sansa clearly had noticed – at least to some extent - the other young lady’s damaging effect, since, with a small smile returning on her face, Lady Sansa added, “We were complete opposites. She had a long face, but short dark brown hair. Her eyes were a grey so dark they seemed black. She was shorter and always skinnier than me. Though more slim, where I was said to be possibly more graceful, she was always stronger and faster** – more athletic. She was basically the definition of a _tom-boy_ : completely disinterested in anything remotely feminine, more interested in playing with the boys, even demanded to learn how to fight... When we were still kids, we didn’t get along; we just too different. I didn’t understand her, she didn’t understand me.”

There was a slight pause, before she added sombrely, “I was horrible to her, when we were younger. I called her " _Arya Horseface_ " with some of the other girls... But then I came to realise that she was genuine, not hiding herself behind a mask – just being who she was comfortable being, whilst I only really cared of what people thought of me... It got better as we got older. We grew up. Accepted the other for who she was. Of course we still had our moments. I teased her mercilessly when she did start actually being interested in boys. She was so horrified by the idea of liking a boy that she was the last to realise and acknowledge her feelings for Gendry. Of course, once she did, she forewarned to all harm, if they commented on her relationship...” There was a small quirk in her lip at the last words but it was gone just a quickly.

 

Shifting on his lap, her body pressed closer to his chest. Stannis had to remind himself that Lady Sansa was ignorant of the affects her movements had on him. Thankfully it seemed that it was now Lady Sansa’s turn to want to change the subject the subject, calling his rebellious musings away from how well exactly her curves seemed to fit against his body,

“I was able to send a raven to my uncle last night. I was surprised to receive a response this morning. He apparently reached King's Landing ahead of time, arriving early yesterday.”

Stannis had also received a missive from Lord Tully, informing him of the Blackfish’s rapid arrival in the capital. - Last eve, he had not only written to Lord Tully (– making a point to also reassure the older lord that both his heir and Lady Baratheon were in good form -) but also informed His Grace of their current progress in their journey, and Jon Arryn. He had also sent a raven to Storm's End reporting to Cressen, Ser Cortnay and his uncle of their advancement and wanting assurance of how things were progressing at the keep.

Truthfully, he was just as amazed by the how hastily the Tully knight had reached King's Landing. – The riders must have barely had any rest, and changed horse along the way. Stannis could not help but wonder the reason for such urgency to reach his lord-brother. Frankly he had also been slightly trouble by the only very brief mention of Lady Sansa in her father’s letter... As well as the fact that his wife had written to her uncle instead of her lord-father... Though, Stannis was possibly looking too much into the response; seeing things that were not there.

Of course, the brief response from Grand Maester Pycelle had been the more distressing one: ‘ ** _His Grace, King Aerys Targaryen the Second of His Name, eagerly awaits the arrival of his nephew, Lord Stannis Baratheon, and to meet his new bride, Lady Baratheon._** _’_

With that simple sentence Stannis had felt a certain chill run down his spine – a sense of foreboding he assuredly did not welcome.

At least the reply from his previous mentor had been more appreciated as well as encouraging. As requested by His Grace, Lord Jon Arryn was also on route to the capital. Along with other news in the missive, the older man had informed Stannis to have just past Sow’s Horn. It was safe to assume that he would arrive a day or so ahead of Stannis’ own party. (- Be that as it may, from the letter, Jon Arryn was also clearly eager to meet the most recent Lady of Storm's End.)

Nevertheless, no matter what the three correspondences had written, it was unnecessary to trouble Lady Sansa with such news. She was undoubtedly already apprehensive about coming to King's Landing for the first time and, more significantly, seeing her father, after so many years. So, instead. Stannis only informed that he had also received a letter from Lord Tully to the say affect as her own.

 

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

 

Once the tablet was rightly placed in her rucksack, Sansa closed the bag and placed it to the side, out of sight. Task done, she stood up, straightening herself. Her gaze taking in the room, Sansa let out a satisfied sigh. Everything seemed to be in order, ready for the night and Lord Stannis’ appearance.

Mary seemed to agree as, not a moment later, the other woman queried if Sansa needed her for anything else. To which Sansa quickly confirmed that she was free for the rest of the evening.

Once alone, Sansa let out another sigh. The day had been a very good one. Her grumpy mood was definitely a distant memory by now.

The sun having returned and the shade of the trees had obviously helped. As well as the wonderful sleep she had had the previous night. Not to mention spending time with the children in the morning and during meals. However the ride and conversation with Lord Stannis had been the best part. Not only had he actually listened to what she spoke about but he had seemed genuinely interested in it. It had also been interesting to listen to the few things he spoke of. It had actually been quite sweet when they had talked further about when Lord Stannis believed they would arrive at the capital. He had even gone on to warn Sansa of certain things to expect in the capital (- most of which Ser Brynden had already informed her, but it had felt nice for Lord Big and Muscly to show some true concern for her).

Unfortunately, no matter how well the day had been and how much she prepared now, there was still one issue that still plagued Sansa.

Memories of the bath incident still present in her mind, Sansa had not taken long washing. She also made sure to put away any ‘ _modern items’_ away before Lord Stannis came to their shared chambers. And as wonderful as last night’s sleep had been, having her own room and chambers - able to have some ‘ _me-time’_ and sleep in her Teddy – Sansa had realised, upon arriving at this latest inn, the drawbacks of such a interlude. She had been reminded how wonderful sleeping in something other than the dreaded Dragon Age nightgowns could be. And thus, now more than ever, Sansa had no desire to wear the overly hot (- especially with summery weather -), overly itchy night garment.

No. - What she really wanted another night in her Teddy... her beautiful, soft, smooth, wonderful Teddy...

Which was why now, she waited for Lord Stannis... so she could broach this awkward subject with him. Sansa had no wish to fall asleep in her moderately ‘sexy’ modern nightwear and be woken up by her _husband_ thinking it was some kind of ‘signal’ that she now welcomed his advances and was ready to ‘ _do her duty_ ’, as he would say.

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis pulled his head out of the cool river, the warm breeze hitting his face, his lungs gasping for air. Standing, he ran his hands through his hair, shaking some of the water off of him, to then proceed to do the same with his torso, the drops running down faster to re-join the pool below. Looking down, he took stock of his body, checking for any mud, or other residue from the day’s goings-on.

Mercifully, he found none. His breathing – and mind – still slightly laboured, he let out a long sigh, before heading to the river’s edge.

 

It was getting ridiculous.

If he was honest with himself, he knew which _residue_ he had been truly checking for... and from which of the day’s activities it had _emerged_ from. There was no point in continually trying to deceive himself. Stannis was more than aware that, as of late, he couldn’t calm his mind or musings... or _primal urges_. These rebellious thoughts had increased and had become his constant companion in the last few days. It most certainly had not helped to share his bed with a woman; – his mind had not been this troubled by such thoughts since he was a lad, at the cusp of manhood. But even last night, in a bed of his own, his dreams had been troubled and full of lustful images...

At the thought of those images... as well as the ones that had been on his mind during his _bathing_ , Stannis let out a tortured growl.

 

He shook his taunt body once more to remove any water (– as well as shaking his craven mind of further torturous thoughts). Somewhat satisfied – at least with regards to the water - he then reached for the clean clothes his squire had left for him by the bank, and pulled on his smallclothes and breeches, before heading for the turned over tree log to sit on.

He let out another groan, sinking onto the dead wood. His thoughts certainly had more difficulty calming with the knowledge that he would share tonight’s room with Lady Sansa... as well as the memory of her hesitant face, wide eyes, and beautifully flushed cheeks, last night... and the possible invitation that had accompanied it --

\- Suddenly a furry form jumped onto the log beside Stannis.

At the unexpected interruption – being embarrassingly caught so off guard in his thoughts – Stannis yelped as he started to fall backward, most likely about to send the hairy beast down with him. Mercifully, however, he was able to find his balance once more, throwing his arms and body forward until his feet were finally once more back on the firm ground. Huffing, righting himself, his back straightening to its typical posture, his heart still pounding slightly faster than usual, Stannis looked down to glare at this disturbance.

Lady Sansa’s mutt.

Although Stannis could feel the small beast’s claws digging into _his_ thigh, to stay balanced, the mongrel that faced him appeared mostly untroubled by either the recent near-fall they both might have suffered or Stannis’ scowl. Tail blissfully wagging, he stared back at Stannis, looking at him as if he knew what Stannis had just been thinking... what he just had done in the river...

... Or perhaps it was only Stannis’ guilty mind believing those brown eyes were judging him...

As it to confirm this last thought, the young brute reached up and licked Stannis cheek, before emitting a playful yelp, leading Stannis to give another disgruntled growl of his own.

However, staring down that the pup, his hands grabbing him by the neck, Stannis’ face and voice becoming stern rather than irritated, as he chastised the small beast “ _No_.”

Unfortunately, the pup only gave another joyful bark before his muzzle reached for Stannis once more. If the animal continued Stannis would have to wash his face once more. With a small huff, Stannis pointed to the ground,

“You belong there. Off with you.”

This time, head lowered, the mutt gave a petulant sound at the command. Undeterred, (– no matter how endearing the tilt of his head and his large brown eyes looked -) Stannis insisted, pointing yet again at the floor. Appreciatively, ultimately, the pup did as bidden. His muzzle resting upon his paws, he watched Stannis soulfully. Yet, Stannis’ usual scowl stayed still firmly in place,

“There is no reason to stare at me that way. Your mistress may be too tender-hearted and thus lax in your training, but you will have no such sympathy from me. Do you think you will survive solely on the benevolence of your master? I do not abide laziness or indulgence, from my men or anyone else."

The mutt licked his chops, his tail twitching.

Stannis let out a grunt, as he stood up,

“Come, now. The kennel master is most likely searching for you. Your lady would not have been pleased if you had wondered off and she had lost you. In any case, we have another long day of travel on the morrow, and you will not rely on your lady taking you on her lap when you tire.”

 

**. . .**

 

It took longer than Sansa had expected for Lord Stannis to reach their room.

Opening the door rather abruptly, he moved into the bedroom, before stopping only a few steps in, when noticing her sitting at the other end of the room. By the expression on his face, it was clear that he had expected her to already be in bed, probably also already sleeping.

Awkwardly – and possibly slightly apprehensively as well - Sansa stared back at his questioning gaze, as she slowly rose from her chair, placing the needlework down.

There was a suspension in time. One in which Sansa could have sworn the air in the room was warming (- even though she had made appoint for Mary and herself to open all the windows, to let in the cool summer breeze). Her nervousness getting the best of Sansa - her upper teeth biting her lower lip - her gaze broke from his own to look down, to find her fingers having automatically linked together.

 

After several seconds passed, a slight cough came from the other side of the room. Lord Stannis was clearly waiting for her to state her reason for waiting up for him.

Throat dry, she regarded the current situation for several more speechless seconds, before words finally came out, “I... Lord Stannis... Stannis... Good evening Stannis.”

His face blank from expression, he returned the strange greeting with a tilt of the head, “Sansa...”

“I... I wanted to speak with you about... us sharing a room...” her gazing falling on the main furniture of the room, her voice lowered, “... and a  _bed_. As you know, this situation is one I am not accustomed to...” worried how he would take in this last comment, Sansa quickly added, “but it... it isn’t _unpleasant_... as such.”

She could have sworn she saw a slightly twitch in his jaw at the last words. One making Sansa wonder if _he_ found it unpleasant?... _Did he?_

– _Not the matter at hand Sansa. Right now you need to think about the nightgowns_!

Shaking off her momentarily brain lapse, Sansa forced herself to straighten further, and make her voice slightly louder, “That is, it is not unpleasant for me, except for one issue... I would not bring it up but it has rather been affecting my sleep... my dreams as well as my movements in the bed... I usually don’t move at all, really... I don’t even grind my teeth or anything...”

\- _Great! Now you are babbling Sansa. Great Job!_

 

**. . .**

 

Stannis’ frown increased.

He truly had no idea where this conversation was headed.

When he had first entered their chambers, finding his wife clearly waiting for him, he had dared to hope that Lady Sansa was ready for them to affirm their marriage vows and to get to the duty of making of his heir. – Her slightly nervous disposition having only enhanced the aspiration further.

However, the way she continued to talk, her words mixing together, a slight dread of disappointment slowly squashed his hopeful thought. Which in turn, made him more baffled as to why she had been waiting for him?

The last statements definitely confused him further. ‘ _Movements in the bed’_?... ‘ _Usually don’t move at all_ ’?... From what he remembered of the two times they had shared a chamber, Lady Sansa had always remained on her side of the bed, relatively in the same position she had been when he finally found sleep: – her body straight, arms either side... though one leg would possibly be slightly bent towards him (– not that there was anything to read in that one small gesture...). In any case, it seemed rather significant for him to listen and try and understand what his wife was trying to communicate.

Ultimately, the ramblings stopped for a breath. Evidently realising her increasing fluster, Lady Sansa let out a huff of air – hopefully to clear her thoughts. Her teeth distractingly bit her lips for the second during this interlude as her wide mismatched eyes captured his gaze.

“The fact... the fact is that my nightwear... the ones the maids back at Storm's End packed... they are rather... _uncomfortable_.”

Stannis blinked.

_Uncomfortable nightwear_? This _is what has the lady so flustered_?

“... To be completely honest, they are just so _itchy_ and _hot_... I would like to sleep in something else... I cannot wear them any longer, truly...”

Stannis frown deepened. For a moment, he worried if she was waiting for him to provide her with this alternative nightwear option. Also making him wonder why she not requested such an item from her maid or from the wife of the inn’s proprietor? However, her next words at least explained this part of the matter,

“... I would like to wear my... _preferred nightgown_... but I am worried of what you might think of it my lord...”

Stannis was ready to retort he was certainly not one to care for fashion. This, as well as show his irritation that they had wasted a lengthy amount of time on this rather _pointless_ issue. However, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink, Lady Sansa stammered the rest of her speech before he found the will to do so,

“... It’s... its more _revealing_... I don’t... wouldn’t want you to think the wrong thing... get the wrong... _idea_ from such an outfit...”

Stannis tried to hold back his aggravated growl, as well as an odd pain of disappointment hitting the pit of his stomach. The sound came out more as a huff as he tried to hold his temper. Obviously, from her uncomfortable stance and her longwinded speech, his _wife_ still thought him the same depraved _raper_ , who could not control his baser urges, that she had accused him of being on their wedding night. – By the Gods, she was only changing night wear! It was not as if she would be _nude_ , lying on top of him!

Suppressing the offense, he was only able to snap a ‘ _do what you must’_ , before grumbling to readying himself for bed.

 

**.**

 

His wife had gone to change behind the partition. Stannis for himself had readied by the side of the bed (- all the while trying not to think of his wife undressing only a few steps away).

It felt like the longest hiatus. One filled with _rustling_... _clicks_... _huffs_... more _rustling..._  One during which time Stannis was able to change into his own night clothes, moved into bed, lie on his side, under the covers, before ultimately staring at the ceiling for another long moment.

Finally the rustling stopped. Only a few murmurs of fabric easing against skin could be heard. The shadows on the ceiling and walls in the corner of his eye indicated that Lady Sansa had finally emerged from behind the partition. Still out of sorts from her comments against his person as well as how long it had taken for her to change, Stannis could not help but shift his head slightly and spy as the soft sound of padded feet came closer...

... And then his brain stopped working. _That is_ \- he was certain that for a few moments his mind and wits had decided to depart from his body and that he had even forgotten how to breathe.

How exactly was _that_ a nightgown?

Although the item was a – most assuredly _deceptive_ \- _virginal_ white, Stannis could find no other purpose for this... _nightwear_ except for possibly increasing his heart rate to dangerous levels, and loss of blood to most of his body, as most of it having gone to a certain area of his body. (- With that thought, he was in fact _relieved_ by the low candlelight and that he was already lying down, and his lower half now being covered by the sheets.)

_This_ was his motherhouse-raised wife’s ‘ _preferred nightgown_ ’?... An item which had the whole of her arms and legs uncovered... as well as a good portion of the upper chest... bits of lace at these ends, only enticing one further to imagine what was lying beneath... only two... _strings_ keeping it attached that it seemed so flimsy and easily breakable... the loose fabric seemed to be both be caressing the skin it did cover as well as being loose enough to shift with movement, hinting at this last shielded fraction of the womanly figure...

The whole study of his wife in her _nightwear_ had felt to have used a decade of his life, though – hopefully – had most likely only bee mere moments...

... air returning to his brain, Stannis slammed his eyes shut, shifting his head back to its previous position, facing the ceiling

But the damage had been done. Sinking further into his side of the bed, knuckles gripping the side of the mattress, his jaw clenched, eyes still very much shut, Stannis knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that sleep would come even slower than the previous evenings... and would be more tormented than before... his subversive thoughts his present companion...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Inspired by quotes: “Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister.” – Stannis to Jon in _A Storm of Swords_ , GRRM / “Love the bane of honour, is the death of duty.” – Maester Aemon to Jon in _A Game of Thrones_ , GRRM
> 
> ** Inspired by Bran’s first description (and comparison to Robb) of Jon Snow in _A Game of Thrones_ , GRRM.
> 
> The Teddy nightgown I had in mind, that Stannis is describing can be found on this link (for those interested) : <http://old.eberjey.com/intimates/teddies/secret-attic-teddy.html> ;)


	25. PART II, Chapter 5 - A Simple Matter of Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Big THANK YOU to Sarah_Black for once more helping me with parts of this chapter. :D
> 
> Teeny-tiny apology that chapter is slightly shorter than the latest ones: it was getting wayyyy too long so cut it in two... (might be a tiny cliff-hanger as well... sorry ;P )
> 
> Enjoy! ;P

 

 

 

Stannis hummed contently, slowly leaving his current state of slumber.

He started to stretch...

... _And_ , just as quickly, he _froze_.

 

 _Something_ was _not_ as per usual.

 

His body awakened ever more swiftly, his mind assessing the situation blindly. It was then that he realised that this _something_ was currently covering a great part of his body, lying half on top of him. _Something_ that was not bed-clothing, covers or furs... or an animal. Though, it was _breathing_... so it had to be a living _something_.

Opening his eyes very slowly, Stannis gradually shifted his head, craning his neck, looking down to confirm the identity of this _something_ (- although he already had an idea of what this particular _something_ was).

He first took in the fiery red hair shimmering in the sunlight... spread out over his upper body. The long hair cascaded down from a head that was resting its soft cheek onto his chest, and long dark eyelashes tickled his rougher, coarser skin, exposed from his open shirt. He did not need for her eyes to be open to know that it was his wife’s smaller, infinitely softer form covering his own.

Involuntarily, he let out a strangled groan at the sight and realisation.

Unfortunately, the whimper made his chest rise rather sharply. And with this, Stannis felt his whole body tense once more as a soft hum escaped Lady Sansa’s lips and her own body proceeded to shift slightly due to this momentary ‘ _disturbance’_. He felt her calves move. Her lips parted, and he felt a warm whisper of air sooth ever so delicately against the skin of his half-covered chest. And then – to his _horror_ \- she pressed closer to him, the lines of her body conforming to his. Her breasts moved against him, through the thin material of her strange garment, soft against his flank.

His body stirred. – _Or_ , more specifically, _certain_ parts of his body stirred. His skin became unbearably hot, his blood boiling with life. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his breathing to slow down to an even, calmer rhythm through his nose.

Once she had - _most gratefully_ \- stopped moving and remained still for quite some time, Stannis found the nerves to look down once more, wanting to properly assess the situation. Unfortunately, what he was presented with definitely did not help matters.

One of his hands was resting on her hip, and his fingers looked to be inching towards the silky-soft, uncovered thigh. Not that he could truly reprimand his digits: her legs were simply _magnificent_. Long and pale, Stannis could see that they were just as flawless as the rest of her. Everything, from her glowing skin, her hand’s position directly below his navel, to her soft breasts seeming ready to spill out of that ridiculously revealing nightdress, was _perfect_.

Stannis ordered himself not to think on the enticing view, or on the certain position of her hand compared to a certain part of his anatomy. He commanded himself not to take in the feel of her softer body pressing against his own, or the shine of the fiery red strands gently brushing against him. But his body refused to obey.

He was fully aroused now. There was no denying it. His physical reaction had happened so quickly – or most likely, had already been present - that it was as if the iron of his control he was known for – and prided himself on – had deserted him completely.

Another pained noise emanated from the back of his throat. Stannis only found enough will to – as cautiously as possible – lift his left hand from his wife enticing hip, before letting his head fall back against his pillow. Hopefully the absence of sight and some touch would help his brain to start functioning once more. Not that he was likely to ever forget any of the sights that had been afforded to him.

But he needed to _think_.

How - _in the Seven Hells_ \- was he suppose to proceed? This was definitely not a situation he had come across before. The few times Lysa and he had shared a bed, they had each stayed on their own side of the bed. Stannis could only assume this was the norm for most couples... when not doing their duty. Only a babe or a small child would embrace – clasp – its mother’s breast, seeking her maternal warmth and protection; not too different to a deer and her fawn.

All this had also to take into account that the last few nights he had shared a bed with Lady Sansa, she had stayed on her side of the mattress. Stannis could only assume that if she awoke at this instant time and found herself splayed on top of him, his motherhouse-raised, still very much innocent bride would not react in a desired manner. No. She would most likely _panic_... and _scream_... or _cry_... Even though _she_ was covering _his_ person, _he_ would most likely be blamed by the position they found themselves in, with his wife accusing him of finally showing his true colours and being the _callous raper_ she was so adamant he was.

 

There was, of course, also the rather _large_ problem of what was but a meagre gap away from the small delicate hand placed on his body, below his navel, that would not help matters.

Stannis did not need to look down and see under his breeches to know how _substantial_ or heated of a _predicament_ he was currently in. It had obviously been a while since he had last been with a woman; – ever since Cressen had confirmed Lysa was with child. That had been over a year ago now. Stannis would have liked to think that he had enough control and resilience that he was used to going lengths of time without doing _that_ particular marital duty. Before marrying and bedding Lysa, Stannis had been able to learn to control himself and his lustful urges and thoughts as he grew from a green lad into a man. - Unlike his brother Robert, he had never set aside his principals or responsibilities as lord of the land, and had gone to find a shameless tavern wench to _impress_ and _excite_ with his accomplishments as a great lord, or with his _great sword_. Nor had Stannis ever put _personal indulgence_ over _duty_ , and gone to a brothel, to pay for such _pleasures_. The idea was more distasteful than anything else.

And yet, for the last few days, the _yearnings_ and _reactions_ of a callow youth seemed to have come back with a vengeance. It obviously had not helped that last evening when Lady Sansa had emerged from behind the partition wearing next to nothing. Stannis had taken ages to find sleep. His mind and _body_ had been overly aware of his wife lying next to him, of how much of her body was showing, and of how ridiculously soft-looking and delicate-looking the outfit she wore appeared, even with only the glimmer of moonlight coming from the windows.

And unfortunately, here, _now_ , like the last few days, it seemed that it would take a while for things to cool and settle down any... especially with the rather enticing female body _still_ covering him.

The simplest solution would obviously to move the smaller supple body off of his own, and then go _bathe_ in the river, as he had been doing as recently as last night.

 _Though_... Stannis did feel rather... _comfortable_ (- _apart from the particular area, of course -)_...

Not to mention, his body and the warmth emanating from it were surely providing Lady Sansa with a certain level of relaxation and contentment from the way she continued to cling to him...

Surely he should wait a few more moments.

It was still rather early; barely any light was coming through the window. And his wife never woke this early. Never before him. He always left the room with her still fast asleep. Even Stannis, on the previous mornings, had slept longer than this.

On the other hand, it was more likely that he would wake her if he tried to move her off of him. In any case, _she_ had been the one to shift and move towards and onto _him_. With this thought, one would think there was a chance Lady Sansa’s lithe body would move back to its original location on its own accord, and Stannis would be able to... _escape_ without _incident_.

Yes. This seemed like the safest option. The alternative would be too uncertain, with the possibility of waking his wife.

Though, this decision did leave Stannis with still the rather _important_ issue to deal with. He could not well _resolve_ it here, whilst his wife was sleeping now could he?

... Could he?

No...

 _No_. The _act_ would be as risky and dangerous as trying to move her off him. Even more so if Lady Sansa woke up and saw _it_.

No.

He had fallen asleep several times with Lady Sansa sharing a bed with him. He had even been able – after a long stretch of time – to fall asleep last night, even with her ridiculous _preferred_ nightgown. This was only another way to test his resolve. Stannis would just have to continue looking upward and close his eye... ignore his physical state, or the substantial positioning of his wife’s body on his own, and just rest for a while longer...

Yes. That was what he would do.

That was what he was doing now.

Completely ignoring everything...

... Eyes closed... body sinking further into the mattress...

...

... His body tingled... his fingertips itching to return to their previous place on his wife’s hip... or lower down from her hip... his chest continued to try and rise and fall as calmly as possible with long delicate strands tickling it... his thigh itched to rub against the pliable leg covering it... his member still throbbed with awareness..

... but he ignored it _all_.

Nothing could be so simple.

... _yes_... _ignore_... _simple_...

He would just count... _knights_... knights and their horses jumping over hedges. _Ha_ – _yes,_ _hedge-_ knights jumping over _hedges_...

...

 

Unfortunately it seemed as if the Gods wanted to test his resolve further, as barely any time had passed – Stannis having only counted twelve knights – before Lady Sansa _shifted_. Or more precisely wedged her body closer to his own, with one of her legs moving higher up his own leg, her soft thigh caressing his knee, her calf brushing against his.

To make matters worse, mere moments later the hand that had been precariously positioned near his navel  _repositioned_ itself; – definitely _repositioning_ in the _wrong_ direction, moving ever-so-slightly _south_...-

- _Or was it the right direction?_.. _No_! Definitely the wrong direction! It would definitely not help at all if Lady Sansa’s hand touched certain parts of his body... no matter how intriguing the image seemed in his head.

Alas, all this only seemed to only verify that his previous thoughts of removing her from his person had been the correct resolution... and for Stannis to take _care_ of certain matters before they became even more throbbing and excruciating – _too throbbing and excruciating_ \- or his wife woke up.

 

Resigned, after a long pained internal groan, Stannis opened his eyes once more and looked down. Resolved, he first very slowly – possibly also _reluctantly_ – lifted Lady Sansa’s hand from his navel region and placed it by her side.

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa moaned, shifting ever closer into the warmth surrounding her.

At this moment, she was still half asleep, her mind determined to linger back on dream she was having (– a strange but captivating dream of a knight in some Dragon Age Tourney with a weirwood tree painted on his shield defeating three other, _larger_ , opponents). Unfortunately, there was a shift – _another_ shift –, one in which Sansa’s mind started to realise what had first brought her out of her dream in the first place. Her brow furrowed in frustration; the shifting seemed rather _persistent_ – the knight and the tourney fading further and further away –  and as such, Sansa did not hold back the moan of irritation, announcing her displeasure to the _very_ _rude_ disturbance, before nuzzling into her pillow...

... _That is_... until the pillow actually seemed to mumble _back_...?

More of a whimper really; not too different from a dog in pain...

Eyes still closed, nose scrunched, this time her frown was more out of confusion. – Why would Mr Darcy be with her?... Lord Stannis had been adamant that although the pup was hers, it had to stay with the kennel master in the evenings. This was especially true given the fact that Sansa had to share her room with Lord St--

\-- Sansa’s eyes flew open, her head lifting and turning from her _pillow_.

Suddenly finding herself much more awake, she quickly came to the realisation that she was staring straight into dark-blue eyes – _not_ Mr Darcy’s adorable brown ones.

 _He_ just stared at her. Their eyes locked on one another for the longest of moments, reading the expression on the others face. The whole room seemed to have stilled, both looking at the other, confusion mixed with understanding, alarm mixed with... _something else_... Sansa could have sworn Lord Stannis seemed to become more alarmed as time passed. _Though_ his eyes also seemed to darken, leaving not much of the blue still visible. Her own stomach flipped, trepidation and anticipation stirring in her veins at the thought of them so close, staring at each other, him beneath her, her in her nightdress – _no,_ her _teddy_ – and him in a more than half-open light cotton shirt and night-breeches...

 

Sansa was not exactly sure how _exactly_ the next thing that happened, or what exactly went through her mind. - Instead of pushing herself _off_ Lord Stannis and removing herself to the other end of the bed - like she definitely _should_ have done -, she bent her head back down, leaning over and closing the space she had previously created between them...

Their noses touched ever-so-briefly...

... And then her lips delicately landed on his.

There was a slight pause, only her lips on his... They were thinner than hers - less full -, but they were surprisingly still quite soft, though she would also describe them as being generally firm...

... And then it seemed Lord Stannis had been switched back ‘ _on_ ’. His lips responded, pressing into hers. Her eyes closed slowly with his response. Her body rather than her brain seemed in charge of her decision-making, with Sansa only moving closer, taking in _more_ , tasting _more_ , angling her lips to feel more of Lord Stannis’ ones... This seemed to have done the trick, as she felt a rumble run through his chest and out of his mouth as a hand was placed on the back of her head and another one on her hip, and her body was shifted by his own...

Sansa placed one of her own hands at the base of his neck, the kiss only deepening...

Next thing Sansa knew, their bodies seemed to have ‘switched’ position, with now Lord Stannis mainly on top, covering a good part of her body. As if in automatic response, her left leg bent slightly whilst her right one rose, moving the length of his thigh, to wrap around his hip, allowing their bodies to fit better together... At the same time, his hand gripped her hip further, a definite grumble coming from his chest...

Through all this, a small voice in back of her mind started making her aware of _how_ _exactly_ they are positioned, of _what exactly_ was happening... of _what exactly_ was pressed against her thigh, digging into her...

A part of her was also very much conscious of the fact that _she_ was acting quite lustily... that they had suddenly started acting like two horny teenagers in the pool house whilst his parents were away...

The small voice nagged at her; making her wonder if she should say _something_... do _something_... stop things before they moved further... However, just as one of Lord Stannis’ hand moved higher up her hip, another voice was quick to remind Sansa, ‘ _Who cares? He’s your husband!_ ’

– _Yes... yes, he is my husband_... ( _And I should probably start thinking of him as ‘_ Stannis’ _, not ‘_ Lord Stannis’) _..._

Of course that was when she realised one or both of her ‘ _yes_ ’s had been said – _moaned_ – out loud and that Stannis had taken this as further encouragement to not only deepen the kissing but she was sure she could now feel a rather large hand grasping her teddy and covered left breast...

At this gesture, Sansa’s mind buzzed in confusion once more, still very much unsure if they should be continuing, or if she should say something... _anything_... - _I mean we haven’t even said ‘good morning’ yet_...

She whimpered, before a soft voice whispered, _just a bit more_... _just a big longer_... in the back of her mind.

Her hand moved up to cradle the back of his neck and head, her nails softly running against his rougher skin, through his hair... in response the hand that had only moments ago landed on her chest started moving... caressing... as if ready to examine every inch of her breast...

 _Warmth_ spiralled dizzily all through her, a great sense of exhilaration taking over. So much, moving so quickly (- they had only actually been awake for a couple of minutes -) her veins felt on fire, her lungs were ready to explode, as if the air was not coming in quickly enough... For a split second, Sansa moved her lips away from Stannis’, just to _breathe_ , the action eliciting a growl from him...

With a tiny huff, she pressed her lips back onto his own, though this time with her teeth deciding it a good idea to nip softly at his lips... before her tongue ran along his bottom one... eager to taste _more_... and for him to open his mouth to hers...

 

**. . .**

 

Coherent thought had left him...

 

It had ever since Lady Sansa sweet rosy lips pressed against his own, her lithe barely covered body moved closer to him once more – _whilst awake_.

The kiss was pleasant. _More_ than pleasant.

As surprised as he was by her initial assault, Stannis was more than shocked when his wife had then turned her head and deepened the kiss. After a few maddening moments, she had twined her delicate fingers in his hair. The feel of them as they raked his scalp and curled around his hair was… _thrilling_. So was the feel of her sumptuous flesh as she pulled him impossibly closer, arching into the embrace. He didn’t think his blood had ever rushed through his veins as fast or furiously as it was doing now. His wife was on full assault against his resolve and control. The woman was _temptation_... _seduction_... Stannis shuddered. The next moan – _more a growl_ \- was his. Fire raged in his loins, as had a rampant arousal. In a will of their own, his arms had enfolded her, his hands mapping her figure.

And then suddenly, Lady Sansa grabbed him a little more forcefully than before. His breaths came out in sharp jagged gasps. She passed her tongue along his lower lip and small bites from her teeth incited him to take even harder breathes. This seemed to be what she had waited for; taking this to her advantage and sliding her tongue into his mouth.

As astonishing and intriguing as it was, the act felt _indecent_. _Too indecent_ for a lady. For his _virginal_ , _highborn_ lady wife. However, before he could think to move his mouth from hers and voice any possible protest, another part of him decided to match this lady’s _vigour,_ and deepened the kiss further, his own tongue meeting hers... _mating_ with hers.

Stannis was more than conscious that his lower half was becoming even _tighter_ and more _uncomfortable_ than when he first woke up... tighter and more uncomfortable than a few moments ago when Lady Sansa had first kissed him. A charge too thrilling to endure shot up his body, through his heart, and into his lungs, stealing his breath. Air, he needed air.

Yet, the certain feeling - the strange feeling - nudged at him, in the back of his mind. No matter how _wonderful_ this all felt, something seemed... _odd_... _off_...

Stannis wanted to ignore it. Forcing it further away, he pressed his lips with slightly more force into her own supple ones, and moved his body with hers. – _This_ was what he wanted... what he had wanted for some time... He _wanted_ to consummate the marriage... their vows... an heir was _needed_... was _necessary_...

 

... But the nudge _persisted_.

Lady Sansa’s movements seemed the least bit nervous... but not... _truly_ nervous... not as nervous as he would have expected. He couldn’t continue... something... this something was...

... It was... too much... too fast... this was not... _duty_...

... This was... this was too much _knowledge_ , too much _experience_ , for a motherhouse-raised maiden.

\- His lips lifted, detaching themselves from hers.

Lady Sansa looked flushed, her eye lids still closed, and there was a slight gap between the clearly puckered, wet lips. They were a deep pink shade – not quite red yet. He had to suppress the temptation to kiss her, put his lips once more on those tempting delights. Instead, the accusation flew before he was truly conscious of what he saying: “You have kissed before!”

 

**. . .**

 

Her toes curled, as her foot brushed against course hair... her fingertips brushed against his hair and scalp... Her mind and whole body buzzed with warmth and desire...

So much so that it took Sansa a few moments to realise they _weren’t_ kissing any more... That her husband’s lips were no longer own her own ones... That he was actually saying words... _yes_ , _words_ to _her_... words that did not sound all that pleasant. – Definitely a lot less pleasant than the kissing that had been happening... and was not happening anymore.

Her – definitely swollen – lips instinctively moved back to their previous target. Unfortunately, they did not meet with the slightly firmer ones. Instead her mouth only continued to meet air. She could not help but let out a huff of irritation at the realisation. At the absence, her mind still in a - not fully awake - lustful haze, Sansa reluctantly opened her eyes, completely terminating her previous moment of pleasure. Her brain was wrapped in cotton and feeling stifling, like an overcast day just before a storm. She was befuddled, very befuddled. Her nose scrunched, her mouth still in its small pout, Sansa let out a moan, as her eyes found heated ones, “ _What_?”

The dark eyes facing her were definitely not as welcoming as before. _No_ , instead they seemed rather accusing. A certain level of distance had been marked between the two of them, as Stannis enunciated each word clearly – for a second time, “You have kissed before.”

This time Sansa was definitely awake enough to understand the words as well as their accusatory tone; - or, at least, the clear accusation of his words and tone definitely brought her out of her blissful haze, jolting her awake.

Without taking any pause to think, Sansa blurted out, frowning in answer, “Of course.”

 

**. . .**

 

_Of course._

Stannis blinked. Twice.

An obvious innocent, with a countenance of indescribable surprise and mouth agape, Lady Sansa simply stared at him. Her breath was still coming in a rush of pants. – Stannis was positive that a certain part of his mind would have been tempted to look down at her chest, to study its rise and fall from such shallow gasps, if it had not been for those two words.

_Of course...?_

 

A strange hotness ran through him at the thought of another man’s lips touching any part of Lady Sansa, let alone touching her own sweet, delicate mouth. As surprising as it was in the intimacy of their positions, his _excitement_ lessened. Oblivious to his thunderous, raging thoughts, his wife stammered further, “...Yes... of course...” wedging the knife deeper into his gut, his ardour cooling further.

His frown darkened, his teeth coming closer together, “What of your fervent calling to the motherhouse?”

Lady Sansa _huffed_ at the enquiring remark. That was before she actually had the gall to roll her eyes, at _him_ – her _husband_ , “Yes well... I couldn’t very well have never have kissed _anyone_. To never know what it was like to kiss someone.”

Stannis’ scowl only grew at the added comment, his jaw now clamped tightly.

Clearly oblivious to his lethal fury, her tone was the accusatory one this time, “ _You’ve_ kissed _before_.”

 

Stannis retorted automatically with a definite growl, “ _I_ have been married _before_.”

 

 


	26. PART II, Chapter 6 – Past and Present Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (slightly late) NEW YEARS!!! to all readers! - Sorry I took me longer to finish this chapter - with the end of the year festivities and family/friend events, took longer to get it done!
> 
> Also, wanted to say: another BIG THANK YOU, to Sarah_Black for looking through the bulk of this chapter and helping improve it :)

 

 

After a most unusual awakening and a restless morning with her head filled with confusing thoughts and emotions, Sansa followed the children and stepped out of the confines of the wheelhouse, welcoming the warm breeze and the rays of sun that had managed to filter through the leaves.

Although her mind was still buzzing, stretching her cramped body after spending hours inside a tiny carriage was indeed helpful. Looking around, she couldn’t help but let out a long sigh of contentment. It was peaceful in the forest, the trees and woodland creatures seemed to mute the sounds of the travelling party.

Unfortunately, she only made it a few steps onto the forest floor before she noticed, looking up to the trees, two small bluebirds bickering – or at least what seemed like bickering to her. Moving slightly closer, she watched as the fully blue one – _the female bird?_ \- threw out the bit of moss the more colourful one – the one with rose-beige plumage on his chest - had tried, moments earlier, to place in the nest. Sansa gave a weak smile. It did not appear that the latter one was having any more luck in his – _or possibly her_ – relationship than Sansa was having in hers. She could only hope the poor little bird would win at least some of the arguments with his mate.-

\-- The sound of Mary coming up behind her reminded Sansa of their current location and the reason for their stop.

Turning to face the other woman, Sansa’s gaze unintentionally looked beyond her lady-in-waiting to catch a glimpse of the tall, dark brooding form that could only be her husband. And of course, at the sight of him, Sansa was once more reminded of the early morning events. Her small smile all but disappeared, Sansa just as quickly giving Mary her full attention, before they moved together to join Sarra* and the children.

 

A few minutes later, slowly eating the meal that had been placed in front of her as if she could delay the inevitable, Sansa continued to delve into the reality of what had happened – _what had_ _started_ , _really_... _started without_ actually _ending_ – this morning. So far she had not been able to come to terms with it... not _yet_ , at least.

To be honest, once fully awake, Sansa was not all that surprised by Lord Big and Muscly’s reaction.

 _Yes_ , of course, she would have preferred not to have his accusing, judgmental Mr. _Lord-of-the-Castle-and-everything-in-it_ personality burst out, outraged and condemning, judging her once more. Nor had Sansa cared much for _how_ Stannis had gone on to continue to question her, even after she had tried to explain herself, whilst they were still in bed - in their night clothing, no less. It had gone on and on, to the extent that Sansa had been _relieved_ when they had been interrupted by a knock at the door. It had been Stannis’ squire informing him of an urgent matter. Sansa hadn’t spoken to Stannis since, having decided it best to spend the whole of the morning journey within the confines of the wheelhouse, instead of sharing a most likely daunting - and thus more uncomfortable - ride with her husband. She could only hope that some time and fresh air would make Stannis calm down, and more amenable to further conversation on the matter of her having already kissed. For Sansa was certain that they would have such a discussion. The man had proved himself several times before a rather possessive and prideful person; one that didn’t seem ready to let go of any argument.

In any case, regardless of Stannis’ particular nature, Sansa understood from what Ser Brynden had said that most daughters of Great Lords didn’t have boyfriends or go around playing _spin the bottle_ before they married whoever their fathers chose for them. On the other hand, with her own 20 th Century upbringing, it was somewhat strange _not_ to have kissed anyone at eighteen. For crying out loud, _she_ had gotten her first real kiss much later than all her friends – _even Arya_. And, to be perfectly honest, with Joffrey as her first kiss, a rather large part of Sansa wouldn’t mind not having had that particular experience.

 _By the Maiden -_ it wasn’t even as if Sansa had kissed loads of people either. She had only kissed _two_ people. _Though_ , she didn’t count the meaningless pecks from the drinking games that were sometimes played in dorms and house-parties. As for the second person - Sansa couldn’t really be blamed for the drunken kiss that Obella Sand had given her during the first week of university. It had been her Dornish friend who had basically jumped on Sansa in her tequila-induced state - though Sansa had always sceptical about how much her friend had drank that night- and had given her a most interesting lesson in kissing – tongues and all. It had been a much better kiss than the first – or, really, _any_ – kiss she had received from Joffrey.

 

What had actually had been plaguing Sansa more than anything else this morning was _her_ own actions when waking up.

Instead of being mortified that she had found herself once more covering Stannis’ hard body – in her teddy, no less –, _she_ had actually been the one to kiss _him_. Not only that, she had been the one to act like a total _slut_ and press herself more fully against him, more than ready and willing for things to progress further than _kissing_... _He_ had been the one to stop them, not _her_. All _she_ had done was _moan_ and _pout_ like the ‘ _actresses’_ in adult-films. – _Gods,_ she had only kissed the man once really, and she had barely seen the man’s chest, nothing more, and yet her body was still on fire. It was insane how much she wanted to touch and act most inappropriately with a man Sansa had truly known barely a _month_.

 

Her cheeks warming, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Stannis _hadn’t_ stopped them... Would they have continued much further? Gone from their first kiss, sliding through all the different bases to hit ‘ _home_ ’?... Or would she have stopped them before then?...

... Or, at least, maybe the interruption that had come at the door would have come before they had reached the fourth and final base...?

... Or even before they had reached third base...?

... Or at least _she_ would have said something upon Stannis trying to reach third base... _surely_...

Her neck and cheeks were now fully red as Sansa couldn’t help but imagine the two of them reaching said third base together. What would it have been like to – _finally_ \- see the ever-elusive male organ... the fairly large one that had been pressed against her hip somewhat insistently whilst they had been kissing?

Sansa gave a small cough, nearly chocking on the stupid childish giggle that burst from her at the memory.

“Are you well, Sansa?”

Letting out another cough – this time more out of embarrassment – Sansa looked up to find Edmure’s concerned eyes on her. Her gaze went from her brother, to the two other children, to Mary and Sarra, all looking at her.

“Y-yes... I just swallowed a piece of bread wrong.”

Edmure seemed satisfied enough with her answer.

On the other hand, judging by the slightly raised eyebrows, and the rather conspiratorial smiles on the two women’s faces, it seemed that not everyone believed Sansa’s excuse. Looking back down at her plate and taking a small gulp of lemon water, Sansa could only assume that Mary and Sarra had mostly likely noticed the redness of her face, and they might well have observed that Sansa had not taken a bite from her plate for a good five minutes.

 

**. . .**

 

At the sound of a horse neighing close to his own, Stannis’ gaze went from the wheelhouse to the dark northern mount close to his own.

Eddard had yet to comment on Stannis’ demeanor during the morning - or, truly say anything out of the ordinary. However, Stannis was well aware of his friend's gaze constantly reverting back to him whilst they had wordlessly continued travelling through the Kingswood, and then all through the silent midday meal.

Of course, Stannis could also feel the curious gazes of some of the other knights, but he was even more used to ignoring them than his friend.

Truthfully, rather frustratingly, the feel of Eddard’s eyes on him only reminded Stannis further of the events of this morning. Events that Stannis was less than eager to talk about with anyone (- though would most likely be pulled out of him by the northerner, at some point).

On the other hand, nothing would likely make Stannis forget the _sight_ … the _touch_ … the _taste_ of his wife’s lips and body. Nor would he need much encouragement to think of these things (- which _was_ , to a certain extent, the reason for his current discomfort on his horse).

Unfortunately, with these tantalizing memories of his wife, there also came the memories of her _over-experienced_ actions, as well as her disquieting words that had followed his questions on the matter. He felt his throat rumble and his jaw tighten as he recalled her words once more – ‘ _Of course’_.

 _Of course_ … _of course_ … _of course_ … as if there was nothing more logical than his virginal, motherhouse-raised new bride having kissed all the men from whatever Ser Brynden Tully had stated Sansa had been kept hidden since infancy…

Unfortunately, therein lay the rather pressing question of exactly _how many_ men had sampled _his_ wife’s lips. Not only this, but how _far_ they had gone: the kiss he had received this morning hinted at much more than an innocent pressing of lips... there was also the question of _how old_ she had been the first time she had let another man – one she had been neither been betrothed or married to – press his lips on to her own. His thoughts darkening even further, Stannis could only assume it had been her companion – this Arya chit – that had introduced such unladylike notions to his wife. Irksome as it was, Stannis could only assume that the younger – and more innocent and gullible – Sansa had been sampled by a great number of unscrupulous men.

\- His hands gripped the reins of his horse tightly at the thought - possibly too tightly, judging by the way Fury shook his mane and pulled his head forward in complaint.

 

His horse having brought him back - to a certain extent - to the here and now, Stannis sensed more than saw the dark mane of Eddard’s destrier align with his own, and, without further ado, Eddard asked with a sigh, “So... – Are you going to tell me why you are sulking?”

Stannis blinked once. His jaw twitched ever so slightly and then tightened further. – He was Lord of Storm's End, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands: he did not _sulk_. Not that there would be any point in saying this to Eddard. His friend would only insist that he was; - _Northern hard-headedness_.

As if to prove his point, Eddard persisted, even without Stannis opening his mouth.

“The day is bright, we have made good time, and yet, since not long after daybreak, you have been in a foul mood.”

There was a brief pause. One in which, Stannis still refused to give into his friend’s ridiculous prodding.

When next he spoke, however, Eddard’s voice was slightly lower, the tone more careful, “It would not have anything to do with Lady Sansa would it?”

This time Stannis flinched. But the facial reaction was so quick he could hope that his friend had not noticed it.

It was a private matter. One between Stannis, his wife... and however many men had dared taste her lips and any other parts of her soft delicate body before him... And he would definitely not delve into the matter of the kiss itself – that was most undeniably _private_... Nor would he ever mention his wife’s barely-there, favoured nightwear.

 

 _No_. It would be best not to mention that particular part of his morning at all.

Instead, it would be best to reveal the dark news that had interrupted his _discussion_ with his wife about her past admirers.

“A rider came, early, – just before daybreak. He had ridden most of the night from King's Landing, sent from Ser Brynden. Lord [Symond Staunton](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Symond_Staunton)** is dead.”

Whatever protest his friend had been ready to make, was replaced by a slight hitch, “ _Staunton –_ as in King Aerys’ Master of Law, Lord Symond Staunton?”

“Aye, the very same.”

“Do we know how he died?”

“In his sleep, during a nap after his supper, if Grand Maester Pycelle is to be believed. – Needless to say, Ser Brynden does not; he suspects possible foul play.”

Eddard gave a solemn nod of agreement.

“As would I. The little I saw of the man, I never cared much for him, nor him for me, for that matter. It was later that I learnt that the man was convinced Prince Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna in an attempt to win my father’s support, over Aerys. – Symond, as well as Lord [Qarlton Chelsted](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Qarlton_Chelsted), have – _had_ \- always been avid supporters of His Grace. I had actually thought that it would be Staunton or Chelsted that would be the next appointed Hand of the King, in the event that His Grace dismissed Jon Connington.*** I can only assume Aerys did not welcome the news?”

Although Stannis would agree with his friend’s supposition, he only stated what he knew, “Ser Brynden sent the rider as soon as he had heard. I believe His Grace had yet to be informed; only time and more reports will reveal His Grace’s mood.”

There was a temporary pause in the conversation – both men mulling over the possible consequences of Lord Symond’s death – before Stannis thought to add the second part of the missive.

“Ser Brynden also mentioned his worry for his own brother’s health. – Lord Tully’s journey and his current stay in the capital have apparently not improved his state of being. The letter mentioned a possible hope, from Lord Tully, to leave not long after our arrival, once mine and my wife’s presentation to the king and court are completed.”

His face more sombre and concerned, Eddard replied, “King's Landing is not a sound place for any man, one could only assume what effect its stench and its vipers have on an ailing man.”

Stannis nodded in agreement. In truth, Ser Brynden seemed to be the main force of the Tully House these recent years, whilst the older Tully aged. Not that he would ever reveal such thoughts to any – especially not his father-in-law – but part of Stannis believed that it had been better that it had been the Blackfish who had come to Storm's End to treat with him. Not to mention, the rather effortless way Ser Brynden had been the one to finally convince Sansa to wed Stannis. Stannis couldn’t help but feel that the issue might have been more difficult; given his wife’s past with her father, as well as Stannis’ own relationship with the Tully lord, especially with regards to Lysa.

With Ser Brynden’s presence at the capital, support that of his brother’s and nieces, Stannis did feel more reassured.

And, at least, Jon Arryn was also to arrive – actually this day - in the capital. His mentor’s presence was all the more reassuring. Not to mention with him would be Ser Davos. One could hope that the once-smuggler would be able to return to Stannis with only few – if any – noticing, and would be able to give him more news of the realm.

 

Mindful of the many others who surrounded them – although at a safe enough distance – the discussion of what awaited them only continued for a short time longer. (- Truthfully, further inner reflection as well as more information were key, before too much was discussed and speculated on.)

Unfortunately, with the discussion ending, and only the sounds of their mounts’ hooves being shared between them, Eddard thought it the best opening for another topic of discussion.

They had but barely passed a dozen trees in silence (- and Stannis had possibly snuck a brief glance ahead to the wheelhouse -) before the northerner spoke once more.

“No matter what other troubling reports you have received this morn, I cannot help but judge that your mood was not only soured by thoughts of the capital.”

Stannis’ bemused frown at the cryptic statement only pushed his friend to elucidate, this time in a somewhat amused tone.

“Your constant glaring at the wheelhouse, as well as the fact that Lady Sansa wished to ride within its confines – though she has described the wheelhouse as ‘ _stifling’_ , and ‘ _excessively jerky’_ \- instead of travelling by horseback...” his voice lowering to sotto voce, Eddard proceeded to add, “... Not to mention the ear-jarring sound your teeth made when I mentioned Lady Sansa. - All these instances have led me to believe that another matter, revolving around said lady, occupies your mind...”

Needless to say, during Eddard’s little speech, Stannis’ mood _did_ sour further, and his jaw had tightened (- that is until his friend’s rather impertinent remark on the grinding of his teeth). – How could Stannis have possibly believed, even for a moment, that his childhood companion would have let such a matter slide unmentioned?

 

Although, _truly_ , Stannis found it somewhat strange that his friend bring up the topic of his wife.

In the time after Eddard’s sister had run off with Prince Rhaegar, there had been quite a number of uncomfortable moments. Moments in which his friend seemed to walk over shattered glass, uncertain as to what should and should not be discussed between them...

... But, it occurred to Stannis that, even before then, they had not really spoken directly of matters resolving around _women_.

... _Yes_ , growing from mere boys into men in the Eyrie together, they had spoken _some_ of such matters - more than either cared for anyone truly knowing about them - but they hadn’t delve too much into it; each allowing the other his privacy (- _especially_ given Stannis past with Eddard’s sister).

Neither man had an exceptionally lustful mind. Nor was it in their nature to share stories of past _conquests_ whilst sharing a drink with his companions, as Robert would do often enough. - One of the reasons Stannis knew their friendship had lasted so long was their similar nature, and the fact that they understood each other; both being more focused on honour and duty (- although sometimes Eddard’ northerner stubbornness and blunt manner would be rather tiresome).

Naturally, despite the fact that they had never spoken directly of certain matters, Stannis had come to certain conclusions on his own.

For one, Stannis was suspected that - at six-and-twenty - Eddard had _known_ a maiden or two.

Of course, he knew some of what had happened with Lady Ashara Dayne. Stannis had noticed his friend’s reaction to the rather comely Dornish lady at the Tourney of Harrenhal, as well as dancing with her after his elder brother’s intervention.

Not too long after the tourney, there had been rumours of the lady being with child and a subsequent bastard girl had been born, with both of the elder Stark men having been mentioned. However, whoever thought Eddard was the young Sand girl’s father clearly did not know his friend well. If the babe had been his, Stannis was certain Eddard would have married the lady and acknowledge the child as his.

In a similar way, a year or so later, upon Stannis mentioning to Eddard that he had heard rumours of Lord Rickard Stark recommending a certain lady from House Ryswell to his friend, Eddard’s only reply on the matter had been a mumbling of not being interested in any ladies that would forever compare him to his brother - the ‘ _handsome one’_.

\- Of course, comparably, Eddard had been at Storm's End for Stannis’ six-and-tenth nameday celebration, and thus had known of the _gift_ Robert had left in the lord’s chambers for Stannis to find. (- Eddard had actually been there with him when Stannis had found the four naked whores occupying his bed -). For that particular event, his northern friend had most mercifully not said much - even helped send the several chits back to whichever brothel his brother had found them in – and had not mentioned the incident since.

 

In any case, the fact of the matter was, _women,_ and specifically, any possible true interest either of them had for a certain lady - not that Stannis had ever had one - had never been truly discussed.

In all likelihood, with recent events, his friend possibly foolishly thought Stannis was more in need of his assistance.

– _Yes_ , Stannis had broached the topic of his horrible wedding night with Lady Sansa... and he had pressed the other man as well as Septa Baela and the rest of the castle to convince Sansa to wed him, whist he was away... but none of these events meant his thoughts for his wife were open for discussion.

 _And yet_... it was _also_ true that his friend’s advice – although slightly convoluted - had been, for the most part, useful.

 

Reluctantly, he finally gave a response to his friend excessive prying.

“She has kissed another.”

Eddard sputtered whatever air had gone to his throat at that particular moment, before a coughing fit came over him and he was only able to croak out, “ _What?_ ”

Stannis might have thought the reaction slightly comical if the matter was not so dire. Instead, he did find it rather an excessive reaction from his usually sombre and controlled northern friend, for something that had to do with _Stannis’_ wife. (- Stannis could still remember it had been Eddard’s calm and collected demeanour that had helped Stannis regain composure and keep a rather clear mind when Lysa had revealed her true colours.)

He had to acknowledge, though, that his friend needed more information than just the words ‘ _she has kissed another_ ’. Eddard most likely thought Lady Sansa had kissed another man _after_ marrying Stannis. His grip on the reins tightened slightly at this last consideration – _she better bloody well not have_! Shaking the unwanted notion from the front of his mind, Stannis clarified abruptly, wanting the discussion to end as soon as possible.

“Lady Sansa has kissed before – before our wedding. She has kissed one... or even _several_ before myself. She confessed it to me this morning.”

His voice sounded oddly petulant and the words slightly foolish spoken out loud.

However, instead of the outrage Stannis waited from his friend, Eddard’s previously-surprised face turned bemused, a sigh of relief escaping his lips before he actually presumed to chuckle – _Chuckle! This was no humorous matter_!

“ _By the Old Gods_ Stannis, I had thought the matter _serious_ : you lead me to believe Lady Sansa had been untrue.”

Stannis scowl reappeared – or, really - deepened.

“She _has_ been.”

There was a sigh and then a huff from the Northerner. – Stannis was starting to lose his patience with all the insulting sounds escaping Eddard’s lips. Looking to the trees surrounding them, the northerner seemed to consider his next words.

“It was before you _were_ _wed..._ and, more than likely, before you were betrothed or even knew of each other... You never seemed to care about the matter before, Stannis. Lady Lysa had kissed before your marriage. – You did not dwell on it then.”

Stannis could only glare at his friend for the reminder.

“Aye. And then I found that she was still being amorous with another whilst we were wed and had even plotted to kill me.”

His friend clearly realising the remark had been poorly chosen, he decided on a different tactic.

“They... they were probably innocent pecks – games of youths – Stannis. All children go through such a phase; there is no need to delve too much into it.”

Stannis’ mood only soured further at his friend’s words. There had been nothing _innocent_ about the way his wife had inserted her tongue in his mouth and moved it within. No, their kiss had not been that of a maid having only received _pecks_. - Not that Stannis was ready to say such things to Eddard. - Instead, he replied,

“ _I_ never played such games. From what I recall, neither did you, or, at least, not whilst we were in the Vale. Furthermore, I have yet to see or hear of Renly or any of my wards going around kissing girls.”

“Aye. But then, my brother Brandon surely did... and you can be certain your other brother, Robert, did as well.”

The mention of men like Robert and the Stark heir definitely did not help Stannis’ apprehensions. Stannis automatically retorted, “They were boys, not maidens.”

– _As if that was excuse enough_. Stannis wanted to chastise himself at his absurd statement: boys couldn’t very well do kissing all on their own... or at least not most boys.

Fortunately, he was soon able to find another – more fitting – response.

“Besides – Lady Sansa was raised in a motherhouse.”

With something very close to an eyeroll, Eddard stared at Stannis as if he was the one being difficult.

“She wasn’t truly raised in a motherhouse.”

“Yes, that is true, Ser Brynden confirmed as much. However, she does not know that she was not. It does not change the fact that she believed she was, _and_ that she was planning to become a silent sister.”

Eddard sighed and let go of his reins to scratch the back of his neck.

“Has she given any indication that she wishes to kiss another man presently or in the near future?”

Truthfully, Sansa had not. There had only been certain indications that led Stannis to believe she had a lost love – a commoner – but that seemed to be it.

“No.” Stannis felt his neck warm, and his throat tighten, as he added awkwardly, “only myself.”

As his eyes were on the mane of his horse by then, Stannis only heard the slight tone of surprise in the _‘oh’_ Eddard let out. Stannis’ couldn’t help but look up at the sound in indignation. Was it so hard to believe his wife had wanted to kiss _him_?

Stannis relaxed slightly when he saw that Eddard was not wearing a mocking expression. Instead his friend looked - _strangely_ – rather flustered.

Even more oddly, Eddard continued to shift rather awkwardly on his mount, and the horse gave a snort of complaint. All the while, Eddard refused to meet Stannis’ eyes, his mouth opening and closing several times. He coughed and cleared his throat as though something was stuck in it.

Finally – though oddly looking rather forward than towards Stannis – words came.

“Did you... w-was the kiss pleasant?”

Stannis had to acknowledge that it had been. “Yes.” – _Very much so_.

There was another cough from his friend, and more shifting.

“Then... then maybe you should focus on that fact, Stannis.”

Eddard’s bizarre behaviour continued, and while his tone was light, Stannis knew his friend well enough to recognise that there was an undercurrent of rebuke hidden in the suggestion, though he did not know why.

 

**. . .**

 

Sansa stared out from the edge of the water. A big part of her was tempted to do nothing other than strip down into her bathing suit and jump into the river. - Swimming had always helped mull over her troubles and clear her head.

And yet, from the bark coming from her feet, it seemed that at the very least Mr. Darcy would rather her attention be elsewhere.

With an internal sigh, she bent down and retrieved the large stick that had been dropped at her feet, and threw it once more. The piece of wood barely left her hand before the puppy sprinted after it, with Shireen not far behind, giggling gleefully. Following the beast and the young girl with her eyes, Sansa’s gaze then landed on the five and eight year old boys a few paces away, ‘training’ with wooden swords. - It was strange to think that boys in this time learn to fight so young whilst Sansa was quite certain Joffrey had not been in any sort of fight in his life, most likely getting someone else to do his dirty work for him…

The puppy and young girl coming once more towards her, Sansa turned her attention back to them, throwing the stick nearer, so that they wouldn’t wonder too far from her and the other women. Next to her, Sansa continued to only catch some of what Mary and Sarra were gossiping about, whilst keeping an eye on the young children. Her mind was still too muddled by her curious morning actions.

 

Sarra and Mary were giggling – Sansa almost certain about the ‘ _young dashing_ ’ Ser Arstan Selmy – when the light talk died down, Mary’s reply to Sarra’s last comment never leaving her lips. Instead, they seemed to have suddenly found something fascinating behind her, before looking back towards Sansa, without making any comment.

Turning, Sansa felt her heart do a small summersault, finding Stannis’ squire approaching the group – most likely coming for her. It wasn’t as if she should have been all that surprised: she had known all day that _he_ would want to ‘talk’, to continue the ‘discussion’ they had never finished.

“Lord Baratheon request your presence my lady.”

Suppressing the brief frustration that Lord Big and Muscly had sent his squire instead of coming to her himself - as well as the feeling of being _summoned_ once more –, Sansa straightened her skirts, her hands smoothing over non-existent wrinkles, before moving towards the young man, all whilst feeling several pairs of eyes on her. Only the pup gave a slight whimper of protest but thankfully Mary took the stick from the ground and threw once more to distract the Alsatian (– and possibly also Shireen).

 

Pressing the teenager to lead the way, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder how prickly Stannis would be this evening – _has the day improved his mood any_?

They passed several, Sansa noting that the rest of the travelling party were still preparing for the evening. She was actually surprised when the squire continued further and brought her to the edge of the encampment, where the discernible tall imposing figure stood alone, a certain distance from the bustling activities and the tents being erected.

He must have heard them coming closer since he turned to face them, his dark blue eyes automatically landing on her, eliciting a thrill down Sansa’s spine ending at her scar.

His face was still stern, but appeared less brooding and sulky than before. Though not the most welcoming sight ever, it encouraged Sansa enough to face him with a – still hesitant - smile on her face.

Eyes momentarily leaving hers, Stannis gave a brief nod to his squire, dismissing him, before returning back to her as she made the last few steps to him.

“I had thought we would walk my lady.”

With a certain edge to it, the statement sounded more like an order rather than a suggestion. It didn’t really improve matters when he didn’t even wait for a reply, instead taking a first assured step in the evidently pre-decided direction. Nevertheless, Sansa kept her smile in place, suppressing whatever frustrations were possibly building from such lording actions.

At least the pace was slow enough that they were able to walk side by side. They weren’t actually touching though. Sansa’s own hands were clamped loosely together in front of her, softly thumping into her skirts. They were walking close enough to still see and hear the budding camp, but at a sufficient enough distance – Sansa assumed – to not be heard. The awkward gap between them, the silence circling them; it all built up to a moment of complete delirium in Sansa’s mind that she actually started imagining the two of them holding hands, walking through a 20th Century park, with a dog on a leash.

That was, until, with not much preamble...

“You have kissed before.”

The proclamation - accusation – was simply stated, with less of the heat and rebuke that it had had this morning. But Sansa was not foolish enough to not think it without censure.

Taking in a large amount of air, she thought her response. She had to remember that, whilst she had been raised in a world where there was boys and girls were bound to get curious and have crushes and act on these feelings before marrying and possibly having babies, Stannis had not.

“Like many others: growing up, and the feelings and curiosity that go with it, are why I have kissed before.”

At the reply, she noticed – and heard – Stannis’ square jaw clench. Sansa could only assume that he did not like this insinuation of _‘feelings’_ and ‘ _curiosity’_. Not to mention he looked about ready to rebuke something along the lines of: she should have been more _curious_ on how to improve her embroidery or play the harp or some other Dragon Age activity for young ladies... not be curious about kissing overeager, lust-filled teenage boys hardly in control of their urges...

And yet, she couldn’t help for a burst of anger run through her. – She hadn’t done anything _wrong_. She was actually _tame_ and _innocent_ compared to most women she knew (- even Sarra and Mary, _in the Dragon Age_ , had mentioned maids having occasional furtive embraces). In any case, he seemed to have very much liked the kissing this morning, before he had been a jealous, possessive goose. Sansa ever so briefly wondered about _Lord Big-and-Muscly’s_ past _relationships_ , before she snapped and revealed her ‘ _oh-so-shocking_ ’ past.

“If you must know, apart from few meaningless silly pecks during rather stupid games with friends, and being caught off guard _one_ time by a rather interesting and enlightening kiss from one of my girl friends, I have only kissed _one_ _boy_ – _one_... And he ended being someone I could only describe as being a _pompous, loathsome boy_.”

Thankfully she stopped there, having found no good reason to mention her days on the beach in a bikini or the time she had been in her bra and shorts with said _pompous, loathsome_ boy. The few choking coughs from Stannis had also helped stop her small rant before if escalated further.

Instead...

“Look – I know... no one is ever ecstatic learning about their significant other’s past _experiences_... it’s a curse for all couples. But would it not be better to focus on the _present_ ; the present and future instead of the past...”

Acting on impulse, Sansa moved slightly closer and slipped her hand into his and laced her fingers through his.

Her voice softer, her clasp tightening ever so slightly, she then added, “... You should only care _who_ I kiss from now on. In the same way, _I_ shouldn’t be concerned about who _you_ have kissed, as long as you aren’t kissing them anymore.”

His head dipped, his stare falling on their intertwined fingers for several long seconds.

Sansa couldn’t help but consider the growing silence; the lack of any words on his parts, that had actually stretched on since the rebuke several minutes and steps ago. She felt her heart beat ever so slightly faster, wondering if she had miscalculated both her words and actions.

Then, _finally_ , he lifted his head, and a slower – _softer?_ \- nod was given.

“I had planned to say that whilst I do not condone such conduct whilst not wed, or even betrothed, I was... I came to realise that, perhaps – _just this one_ – it would be... conductive to overlook and to move past such indiscretions, especially given the fact that you have been lacking husband and guidance on such matters till now.”

His voice turning faintly sterner, he warned, “not that you should expect such clemency to extend to other failings.”

Sansa had to suppress the snort threatening to burst from her as his words ended. The moment of euphoria was not only induced by the sudden sense of relief running through her. Or was it fully to do with his words in relation to her own - apparently unnecessary – rant. But, more so, the slightly comical - in a rather adorable – way, this man who she knew barely a month and who was in all actuality her _husband_ \- had just talked to her as if he was parent chastising a five year old, before deciding – _just this once_ \- to be merciful because of her ignorance. (- To be honest: it was either that, or feel rather offended by some of his chosen words).

She subtly shifted closer to him. She once more glanced down at their hands, still together, before as seriously as possible, she consented, “ _Of course.”_

 

She felt when some of the tension trickled from him. Stannis gave another one of his newly chosen softer nods, before his gaze shifted, taking in the whole of her face. They were closer now, unmoving. They stayed in such a position for several beats.

And then, his eyes stopped in their momentary study of her at her lips.

 

Her heart skipped a beat, _wondering_... Heat curled through her. Her lips started to tingle, as Sansa remembered _their_ one and only previous kiss.

The pause became so unbearable, the memories coming back stronger, Sansa whispered shyly, “Are you going to kiss me...?”

Something shifted over his face, making her trembled. And then...

He _tensed_... and _blinked_ \- “ _Kiss_?”

Slightly frustrated, though the morning images still strong in her mind, Sansa insisted in the same low voice, “Yes, kiss: _we_ are wed, are _we_ not?"

\- Though Sansa wasn’t yet ready for _all_ the other _stuff_ she had been thinking about all day, a kiss felt safe enough – even welcome.

Unfortunately, he only blinked further, his mouth gaping, as if she was speaking a foreign.

 

The disappointment only grew, leading to Sansa actually start wondering if she had been reading the situation all wrong, and to sigh regretfully, “here I thought I had married a commanding, bold lord...”--

\- he leaned forward and his lips swallowed the rest of her words.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Just for clarification (to avoid any possible confusion): I’ve ended up being slightly confusing and there are actually 2 different character, one called 'Sara' and one called 'Sarra' in the story: the nurse maid is Sarra (the other 'Sara' was one of the ladies maid that checked out Sansa's wedding sheets with Septa Baela) -> basically, with all the hep Sarah_Black has given me for this story I thought she deserved a more prominent role in the story (by taking care of shireen) ;P
> 
> ** - In the ASOIAF universe, with the whispers that Rhaegar was secretly funding the tourney as a way to call a Great Council to discuss the rule of Aerys II, Symond had unsuccessfully suggested to prohibit tourneys. When Rhaegar won, Symond as well as Chelsted increased Aerys’ suspicions by declaring that Rhaegar had taken part only to win the favour of the smallfolk and remind the lords that he was a true heir to Aegon I + because Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark as the queen of love and beauty, Symond did also consider that an attempt to win support from House Stark.
> 
> *** - In the ASOIAF universe, Lord Qarlton Chelsted did actually succeed Jon Connington as Aerys’ Hand of the King.


	27. PART II, Chapter 7 – The Expectations, Wants, Needs, and Duties of a Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE Thank you to the AMAZING Sarah_Black for looking through this chapter and improving it! :D :D

 

 

“ _Are you going to kiss me?”_

 

She was close to him, their bodies a hair’s breadth away from each other.

His fingers were still intertwined in hers, and while he had already felt the smoothness of her skin this morning, it still amazed him. She seemed in total contrast to him. His own body only hardened, his muscles clenched, and he found his hand shook ever so slightly, whilst she was soft, poised, delicate...

Then again, she also seemed altered from moments ago. Her eyes were dark – darker than usual -, her cheeks were flushed. As for her lips... her _lips_ : they looked as if they had been stung by an invisible bee, making them _plumper_ and _redder_ than before...

So distracted by these subtle changes, Stannis barely caught the words Lady Sansa had spoken to him in a low whisper, until they repeated in his mind, louder, more urgent.

Stannis blinked, wondering if he had misheard, whether his hopes had distorted her actual words.

“ _Kiss_?”

But no, instead of pulling away, she continued to look up at him, and gave him the briefest of nods,

“Yeah, a kiss: _we_ are wed, are we not?”

A certain part of him found _great_ appeal in the suggestion – especially since they _were_ in fact married. However, Stannis felt himself recoil.

Unlike Robert, he was not a man of seduction, or even flattery. Nor was he prone to _displaying_ such matters, not so publically, out in the _open_. Certain duties – marital duties - were reserved for the privacy of one’s _chambers_. Not to mention, kissing and other such frivolities were used as a precursor for what was to... _follow_. What would be the point of kissing her here, now? It wasn’t as if he would be consummating their marriage vows right here, right now... hiking her dress and unlacing his breeches...

... _No_ \- that would be barbaric, not too different from a Dothraki horse-lord...

No, he was no savage...

... In any case, kissing was not even really all that necessary for the making of an heir... Lysa had not particularly cared for the few they had exchanged.

Unfortunately, due to his lack of a response most likely – or maybe because his decision was written all over his face – Stannis’ musings were cut short as he felt the warmth of Lady Sansa move away. A strange sense of panic moving through him, he looked to find her... _disappointed_?

Her lips let out a soft sigh, sounding... _regretful_?

“It’s a shame. I thought I had married a commanding, bold lord...”

His eyes widened of their own accord. Every muscle in his body tightened in outrage. The rush of indignation ran through him. – Her words were _preposterous_. With unequivocal certainty he _was_ a ‘commanding’ lord as well as a ‘bold’ one. He would _not_ have his wife think him any different, any _less_. And so, Stannis did the one thing he could think of to prove she was mistaken... he covered her lips – and her foolish words - with his mouth.

 

His heart pounded. A small wish in the back of his mind hoped to perform the task correctly, as he had no wish for his wife find him _lacking_ , in any manner, nor did he want to alarm her, in any way. _She_ had asked this of him, his innocent, skittish wife. It was now for him to prove to her that her request – though possibly unseemly, even brazen, for a highborn lady – was not reprehensible.

He kissed her gently...

Most gratefully, she did not recoil. No, as a much more acceptable alternative, she subtly shifted _closer_ , and pressed her lips even firmly onto his own. So much closer and so much more firmly, that Stannis was able to breathe in the light scent he had come to associate with her.

Unfortunately, in addition to his heating body, his _mind_ was also very much aware that they _were_ close, as well as the two of them being at a short – _too short_ – distance from the camp and the rest of the travelling party. Not only this but that they were still _outside_ , in broad daylight. The trees did not offer much privacy. Anyone nearing or even possibly just looking, in their direction, would _see_ them.

This would not do; it was _unseemly_... _He_ was acting _unseemly_. He needed to _stop._ They needed to _stop_.

Truthfully, a small part of him was relieved by the fact. As inappropriate as he was now, he could see himself doing something worse... Like pulling his wife’s smaller, delicate body even closer to his own – pressing her whole form against his whole hardened being - and letting his hands glide down, to relive the _passion_ she had exuded during their _kissing_ this morning, and see if it extended to everywhere... to all aspects.

His mouth grimaced against hers, as he felt his trousers tighten in discomfort.

With great determination – and possibly regret – Stannis pushed the images from his mind, and slowly released Lady Sansa, his lips leaving hers.

Their faces parted and he looked down to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes were still closed and her reddened lips pouted slightly. He took in a breath... and then her eyes fluttered open, her cheeks turning a rather appealing rosy colour, as their gazes met.

Stannis would have been blind not to notice how wide and _dark_ hers were, a heat in the blackness of her pupil... Only for him to then be distracted by her mouth once more, with her teeth biting into her lower lip, as she let out a soft whisper, her voice breathy.

“... _thank you_.”

Stannis swallowed. He gave a rather stiff, awkward jerk of the head before he finally found the will to speak, though his own voice was rough.

“I believe that that concludes that matter.”

A soft smile still on her lips, Lady Sansa looked down at their hands - her hand still holding his. There was a brief pause, before her head tilted back up to look at him.

“Yes. I believe it has. – Let us walk.”

And before he could reply he felt her tug him forward to continue the walk.

Following her lithe form in front of him, his hand still feeling the soft delicacy of her skin, once more a great part of Stannis was tempted to disregard the rest of the walk – even forget about the rest of the camp and evening meal - and guide them in the opposite direction, to retire to their tent (- the matter of his heir _was_ getting rather crucial)...

... That was, until he remembered their tent was most likely not finished, still being prepared...

 

... The matter of his heir would have to wait until this evening.

 

**. . .**

 

The stroll was pleasant.

As they walked, Stannis proved further that he was not much of a _talker_ but, at least, he seemed a rather dedicated listener (- a definite improvement compared to before, when they had been in Storm's End). And whilst he listened, she spoke...

She told of moments of her childhood, of how - like most girls her age – she had always loved ‘fairy tales’ and songs of ‘ _princesses and their knight’_ (- _and also ‘_ princess films’ _, but no point in mentioning those_ -), with ‘ _The Little Mermaid’_ and ‘ _Cinderella’_ being her favourites, demanding them to be read to her over and over again (- not too different to Shireen, now)... She then explained that as she grew up – though still very much a fan of romance - she had gotten into other stories, mainly those of Harry Potter and his two friends. The series had encouraged her to read herself, not just having someone else narrate the story to her...

“... Of course the plan slightly backfired... on the septa, because I became so engrossed in the story, that I could not put the books down once I had started them. I would stay with the light on... – _hum_ , _candle lit_ , for hours on end, until the book was finished. My eyes would be drooping, I would have black marks under them for days, but I didn’t care: my _mind_ was _buzzing_ \- needing to know what would happen next... More than once I got caught, and was told off by Gran Alys –“

“- _Gran Alys_?”

Sansa previous good humour at the memory was caught in her throat as she looked up to Stannis’ confused face. Catching her error, Sansa brushed it off, trying to hide her unease and pass over her mistake... Though her stomach rolled in slight tension: this was the third time she had made a stupid mistake – she needed to be more careful!

“Gran Alys – Alysanne. She is... was Arya’s grandmother. (- _which is true_ -) She was part of the household, a healer (- _still somewhat true_ -)... she was just around so much I got used to calling her thus.”

From the nod Stannis gave he seemed content enough by the explanation, and was indicating for her to carry on. On the other hand, Sansa decided this was possibly high time for her to stop talking about her past – the risk of revealing something too ‘modern’ only increasing – and so she prompted,

“What about you?”

“ _Me_?”

“Yes, what books did you read growing up?”

“We didn’t.”

Sansa could not help but gape. -“ _What_?”

Not perturbed, Stannis continued as if what he was saying was of little consequence, “There were no _stories_.”

“Did your mother not tell you any?”

At the question, Sansa felt his body shift, uncomfortable. It was so faint she wondered if she had imagined it... or whether its reason was only him considering her question.

“She must have done. But, I do not remember them. Then again, I was sent to the Eyrie aged seven. Since then, the only tales Eddard and I read – _learnt_ – were those of History: those of battles, of knights and lords fighting amongst themselves... We, naturally, also learnt of justice, of duty, and other necessary knowledge being the sons of highborn lords. There was also, of course, training as a squire and with a sword... When I returned to Storm's End, it was more to show my father of my progress, as well as to further improve my preparation as his heir and future lord.”

 _Ahh yes - the ever-duty-orientated lord_...

Sansa could not help but feel a small sense of sadness for his description, even though Stannis, himself, seemed rather satisfied by the level of ‘training’ his childhood had been filled with.

“What about with your mother?... and with Renly? Surely, when he was born, you heard your mother tell _him_ stories?”

A sudden darkness seemed to envelop him at the question. His face and tone deepened, becoming rougher.

“No, there were not many stories, even then.”

Sansa’s brows only creased further together.

“H-how come?”

His steps were slightly uncertain now. There was a faraway look in his eyes, as he stared in front of him, as if remembering something from his past.

“Not long after Renly’s first nameday, my parents were sent to Valyria, to find the prince a wife. They perished upon their return... and I became the new Lord of Storm's End... and gained all the duties that came with such a responsibility... There was little time to see to read stories to Renly then...”

Remembering the loss of her own parents, also at a young age, Sansa gave Stannis’ arm a comforting squeeze. But it was more than just the death of his own parents that she mourned with him... Ser Brynden had spoke of people growing up faster. However, Sansa couldn’t help but feel that which so many expectations looming over him – even when his father was still alive – he had lost his childhood before it had even begun. No wonder he was so focused on ‘duty’ and what was necessary for the keep and lands. No wonder he had never truly taken time for himself, to develop as a person. - At least she still had had a childhood in Winterfell, one surrounded by the rest of her family. She could only imagine whatever support he had received were older lords helping him with his responsibilities to the Stormlands.

His body stiffened next to her own, his mouth sharpening to a thin line. It was obvious that he had noticed the sorrow on her face.

“I do not require your pity, my lady. – I am not the first lad to lose his parents in his youth, not will I be the last. My own grandfather died in my lord father’s arms, when he had also been four-and-ten.”

She looked at him, meeting his gaze. Her voice was soft as she replied – _insisted_.

“I do not pity you, Stannis.” – _I mourn with you_... _for you_... _for your childhood_...

But these words Sansa knew she could not say. Nor, obviously, could she speak about her own pain, losing her father so young (– no matter how dismissive he seemed about the issue). So instead, in the same lowered voice, Sansa decided to reveal,

“I still remember my mother reading to me... only a few glimpses, images, really – not full, true memories... I remember always wanting my father to read them – his deeper voice was perfect to do the voice of the valiant knight saving the princess. I preferred my mother’s voice for songs... It was only after she passed that I realised she had been perfect for the voice of the princesses.”

Stannis’ face became less tense and more thoughtful at that. “You truly recall such things?”

“Like I said, only a few glimpses… It was before I went to the motherhouse,” Sansa stammered slightly, feeling herself blush. It was starting to become really hard to keep her story straight.

Most gratefully, Stannis didn’t challenge her on the matter.

They continued to walk mainly in silence for a while.

 

Their peace and quiet was only interrupted several moments later when Stannis’ squire came to inform his lord that a rider had arrived from the capital.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

If the Gods truly existed, their only mercy had ever been making Robert their mother’s secondborn, and Stannis her first.*

Robert had never understood that ‘wants’ did not enter into duty, and that was his brother’s shame. On the other hand, for the good many things Stannis did not like, he suffered through them all the same; so long as he was lord, he had a duty**. This was the case now, as Ser Rolland’s voice rose somewhere close to him. At this particular moment, Stannis was more than certain he would rather be anywhere else than sitting in a poorly lit tent, with four other men, talking about Aerys and the rest of the realm.

 _Aye_ , he was more than aware how often his mind had reverted back to the pillow his head was to rest on, to the bed his body was to lay in, to the tent he was to retire to... to where Lady Sansa was most likely already...

He wondered if she _was_ currently waiting for him, and would still be waiting, if and when he could finally join her.

The earlier embrace they had shared, and the kiss she had demanded – not to mention the one from this morning – had indicated that his wife had at long last warmed to both him and their marriage, obviously having also calmed her maidenly fears. She had most definitely taken her time about coming around, but - as Eddard would most likely advise - it was probably best for Stannis to focus on the fact that they could finally proceed. They could do  their duty and attempt the making of his heir...

... His heir who was becoming more vital with each passing day, and with the increasing number of missives from the capital.

 

Stannis had anticipated the rider that had arrived this eve.

Both Eddard and he had rightfully assumed that an official one would be dispatched from Aerys and his advisors, to inform Ser Denys Celtigar as well as Stannis, of his Master of Law’s death. Yet, Stannis had not predicted for the letter - and the meeting with both rider and royal envoy that followed - to be as _long_ as they had been. - The remark in the letter regarding the king’s impatience for his ‘ _nephew’s arrival_ ’ proved the most worrisome. The oft repeated statement only supported His Grace’s (- and Stannis’ own –) doubts on the nature of Lord Staunton’s demise. Not to mention, his interest in Stannis. His Grace had in fact a planned for an escort to meet Stannis and his men, and take them through the streets of King's Landing – which was to occur _before midday, two days hence_ ’.

Stannis couldn’t help but speculate how much of the king’s thoughts were his own, and how much were whispers in his ear from his _Spider_ and other advisors...

And to what was the extent of the role His Grace was preparing for Stannis...

 

Hence this even later meeting with Ser Rolland, Ser Arstan, Ser Richard, and Eddard, now that the rider had been sent back with a reply, and Ser Denys Celtigar - with any luck, _asleep_ \- in his tent.

Even if they had not been before, all his men were now convinced that Stannis would be the next Hand - which meant staying an undefined amount of time in King's Landing.

As for the issue of Lord Staunton’s death...

Ser Richard was convinced Prince Rhaegar and the Martells were behind the death – but, in Stannis’ mind, the act did not seem to fit the prince’s character.

Ser Arstan suggested that another – _unknown_ \- could possibly be behind the death, and that their aim was to create more tension between the king and his heir, not to mention, increase the king’s general paranoia.

Ser Rolland pointed out that there was also the possibility that King Aerys, himself, might have been behind the death. The reasons: his mind becoming more and more restless, his disappointments with the Lord Staunton in these last years, and the death itself giving His Grace another reason to disdain his heir. – However, Stannis thought to dismiss this speculation due to the simple fact that, unlike his son, Aerys _was_ rather direct in his threats and accusations...

Eddard, on the other hand, preferred not to speculate too much before they reached the capital and received more information, from Tully or Arryn, as well as gather more of their own facts.

As for himself, he was concerned with one thing above all other things. Securing the issue of Storm's End, the Stormlands, and the Baratheon line. Now that preparations were under way for a possible conflict, it seemed crucial that his wife become with child, and that as soon as possible, Stannis would send her back to Storm's End, where she and his future heir could be safe.

 

**.**

 

The gathering continued further into the night – longer than Stannis would have wanted - until Eddard rightfully pointed out that they would have to make an early start in the morn if they wanted to make as good a time or even better in their journey tomorrow, to meet Aerys’ latest request.

As Stannis took the several steps between the tent where their meeting had been held and his accommodations, he held in the grumble that threatened to leave his throat. It would not do to show any sign of fatigue to the men on duty. Once he had passed by the two guards before the Baratheon tent, he pushed through both the outer and inner flap, and at long last Stannis found himself unobserved, in the privacy of his own tent. He scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long, tired sigh...

Another breath... another pause, and then, through a will of their own, his hands fell to his side. He slowly reopened his eyes. Blinking several times, adjusting to the light, Stannis took in the prepared space – the draping, the furnishings, the table with a plate of fruits and nuts, the edge of a basin gleaming behind a screen - for it to finally land on the bed.

The bed that was empty.

A sharp jolt shot through him.

With another more purposeful look through the tent, his gaze quickly found, in the dimmed light, a form curled up in one of the few chairs.

 _Here_ she was - he could _see_ her - yet the pounding inside him did not stop. Moving closer to her, his heart seemed to constrict at the sight of his wife asleep in a seat that was clearly orientated towards the entrance.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

Sansa stirred as muffled sounds gradually increased. Eyes still closed, still dozing, her ears reluctantly tried to make sense of the _thuds, clinks, stomps_... and whatever else had awoken her from her dream of a dark haired boy riding a horse at a steady speed, laughing, just as a younger girl with similar feature surpassed him...

\- _Can they not keep it down and let me sleep more_!

 

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes with a sigh; there was no point in trying to cling to sleep.

A yawn burned in her mouth but she swallowed it down. Instead Sansa concentrated on lifting her head and taking in her surroundings, a frown forming.

She was in _bed_.

And her body seemed to have moved once more in the night, having clearly found its new favourite pillow: the man lying underneath her. - _I_ guess _that’s a good thing... since he’s my_ ‘husband’ _and all that..._

And yet, she had no memory of moving to the bed, or Stannis joining her... The last thing she did remember was lounging in the large chair, reading once more through the _Book of Houses_ – as Cressen had encouraged – whilst she had been waiting for Stannis to join her.

 

A shy smile soon covered her confusion though, as her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. Sansa could only assume that she had fallen asleep before Stannis had come into the tent, and that he was the one to have carried her to the bed. Looking down at him, her grin only got wider, when she then realised that both his arms were now more or less embracing her. His left arm covered the span of her back, with his hand having landed on her hip. And his right hand was currently covering her left one placed over his upper chest. Not to mention, the knee her left leg wasn’t currently covering in a shameless manner, was bent in such a way that it pressed ever so slightly onto her thigh, as if in retaliation to her bold, unconscious movements.

Unfortunately, the girlish giddiness that was running through her was abruptly halted. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of... _horse_ reached her nostrils. At this sudden unpleasantness, Sansa looked down to realise, not only had Stannis most likely not bathed before retiring, but he still wore yesterday’s clothes, only having removed his outer jerkin and boots before sinking into bed. Her study continuing to his face, her frown returned as she noticed the shadows under his eyes; another clear indication that he had stayed up late – _too_ late.

 

As if sensing her gaze on him, Sansa felt Stannis’ body stir under hers, and then his lids slowly blinked open. The dark-blue pools finding her almost immediately, Sansa quickly hid her concerns, and smiled down at him, her voice soft and breathless as she addressed him.

“Good morning, Stannis.”

His eyes stared up at her for a few moments before his low voice rumbled, not too different from a caress trailing over her skin.

“Good morning, my lady.”

A heady warmth simmered inside her whilst as his gaze seemed to smoulder, as it had yesterday when they had kissed. The heat in his eyes stirred a sweet new turmoil inside her that grew hotter, more insistent, with every moment that their gazes held...

Sansa felt her teeth sink into her lower lip as her mind hoped that this time no words or actions would be needed for him to take the first step.

And then her breath caught, because as if to answer her silent wish, he rose towards her, his gaze on her lips... and he kissed her, pressing his lips firmly onto hers.

 

The girlish giddiness had _definitely_ returned now. Tempering the burst of joy filling her, Sansa let her body sink back down, further into his embrace, as her mouth moved further into the kiss... and her tongue licked his lower lip.

She was somewhat aware of a soft growl, but she chose to focus on the fact that he had opened his mouth and used it to her advantage. She placed her tongue within, finally meeting his own.

A heartbeat later she was on her back, him hovering over her. Not that she minded. No, her fingers were running through his hair, whilst her other hand’s nails dug into the back of his shirt.

She was also very much aware that his own larger, callous hands were trying to find as much skin as possible. One continued to move up and down the outer span of her thigh, whilst the other seemed to be in a sort of battle with her teddy, fumbling, trying to find an opening level with her belly-button... Obviously having found none, the hand proceeded to ‘climb’ the length of her nightwear to her right breast and the lace just above it, where skin _was_ accessible. Even his mouth seemed intent on exploring, searching for skin, as his lips rather abruptly left her own to move down to her neck...

 

Her own mouth now unobstructed, Sansa was vaguely aware of her throat letting out several soft moans of delight...—

\- Of course it _had_ to be ruined somehow...

... Though _not_ by Lord Big and Muscly this time – well, not _per-se_ \- but by the sound of stomping close by, as well as a horse neighing loudly on the other side of the tent’s walls. And, as might have been expected, with the noises, Sansa felt Stannis’ whole body stiffen into an unmovable rock.

A deafening moment passed, neither moving, where only their erratic gasps could be heard with the confines of the tent...

 

... Sansa heard a – _frustrated_? – grunt, and the large body covering her, moved off, to land with a great big huff next to her.

Blinking several times, Sansa slowly turned her head to the side. Looking over at Stannis, her eyes trailed over the whole of him. It was obvious that his whole body was still tense. His muscles – and _other_ _parts_ \- stretched tight and rigid against his breeches and shirt, his chest rising with each shallow breath, as one of his arms continued to cover most of his face.

Turning away, her neck and face became even redder than they were already from the previous... _activity_. Sansa bit back the third immature giggle that threatened to erupt in the last half-hour: it was more than clear that her _husband_ needed a moment or two to _compose_ himself.

 

Truthfully, as sense seemed to return to Sansa once more, a part of her couldn’t help but be slightly mortified by the thought of others having possibly _heard_ them... making out...

... At least this day was starting a better one than yesterday morning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Inspired by the passage, in _A Storm of Swords_ , between Oberyn and Tyrion:
> 
> “An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”
> 
> “No,” Tyrion admitted warily.
> 
> “Why, if the gods were cruel, they would have made me my mother’s firstborn, and Doran her third. **I am a bloodthirsty man, you see.** And it is me you must contend with now, not my patient, prudent, and gouty brother.”
> 
> ** - Inspired by Stannis quotes, in _A Storm of Swords_ :
> 
> “It is not a question of wanting. The throne is mine, as Robert's heir. That is law. After me, it must pass to my daughter, unless Selyse should finally give me a son. I am king. Wants do not enter into it. I have a duty to my daughter. To the realm. Even to Robert. He loved me but little, I know, yet he was my brother. [...]”
> 
> “I hate a good many things but I suffer through them all the same.”
> 
> “I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty… [...]”


	28. PART II, Chapter 8 - A Last Day's Ride and Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more: HUGE THANK YOU to Sarah_Black for her help with the first part of this latest chapter
> 
> -> Sorry chapter took so long to update, wants feeling great all of last week, so Stansa writing suffered for it :(  
> Hopefully the chapters events will make up for the lateness ;)

 

 

“... yes but Malfoy is ‘ _pureblood’_ , on the other hand, Harry Potter is a _half-blood_ wizard. His mother, Lily Potter, was muggle-born.”

 

Stannis let out another huff of frustration. His head was ready to burst.

Having wanted to focus on anything other than the interlude his wife and him had experienced earlier this morning, he had – _foolishly_ – listened in as Lady Sansa had resumed the narration of ‘Harry Potter’ and his friends. He had proved himself even more thoughtless by then demanding explanations regarding _several_ questionable elements of the strange tale. An action he was now very much _regretting_.

 _Aye,_ it _was_ true that Stannis might have felt a minor sense of... _something_ when he heard that the young hero – despite being rather unwise and brash and clearly in constant need of whatever aid his companions could give him - had a stag as his ‘ _patronoss_ ’. Stannis even went so far as wonder if Lady Sansa might have altered the somewhat – _possibly due to certain recent events_ \- making the lad’s magical creature the same as the Baratheon sigil. Stannis also wondered about her describing ‘Harry’ as having dark, nearly black hair, and about the deceased parents.

Flattering as that might be, it did not excuse to some rather worrying plot points.

Even if he ignored the perturbing fact that the intelligent, talented young Lady _‘Hermione_ ’ continued to stay in constant close proximity to the two _growing_ boys, sometimes even being left alone with just one or both of them, and neither one of her parents, or anyone else for that matter, seemed all that concerned about the matter, Stannis could not ignore the matter of the ‘Headmaester’. He was more than convinced that this _Dombledor_ fellow was more becoming and more incompetent as the stories progressed. At the present moment, Stannis was trying to understand another troubling matter, however.

“You mean to tell me his mother was a _commoner_? There seems to be far too many wizards that have married lowborns in this tale of yours. How could the Wizarding Community have allowed such a thing to occur? Were there not enough highborn ladies for the wizard lords to marry?”

Lady Sansa had the gall to turn her body to fully face him and _glare_ , before letting out a huff.

“Stannis, there are no lords or commoners in this universe.”

Jaw clenching, Stannis promptly rebuked, “But there _are_ lords: you spoke of a ‘ _Lord_ _Vold-morte_ before; the one the rat-man went to.’

There was a definite groan this time. “Yeah... but he's not _really_ a lord, he just styled himself one. His real name is ‘ _Tom Riddle’_ and he is also a half-blood, like Harry Potter.”

Stannis blinked, and then blinked some more, his mind going blank. – _He styled_ himself _a lord_. _Utterly preposterous_.

“Look, Stannis, I think you are looking at this in completely the wrong way... or at least just looking into it way too deeply, and thus confusing certain things. It is supposed to be only a _story_... it’s not real life or anything, j-just _fiction_... about a far-away, non-existent land.”

Words still failing him, he only gave a nod of agreement.

Yes, it would probably be best to let the matter drop. This discussion was proving to be even worse than his morning _issue_.

And here he had thought that _anything_ was better than to think once more of his wife’s lips moving against his own... her tongue meeting his... the feel of her smooth skin and the soft, flimsy material of her nightwear barely concealing the rest of her figure from his fingers... and - as might have been expected - experiencing the accompanying _discomfort_ from said physical contact and its following _thoughts_.

Fortunately, everyone in the camp had the good sense not to comment on the fact that Stannis had left his tent later than was expected, when most of the site had already been packed. His late start had been a clear indicator that he had been... _occupied_. (– Though Stannis _might_ have also managed to discourage questions by glowering at anyone who seemed likely to bring the subject up.)

Even more agreeable had been his squire – who had obviously realised that his lord was _not_ sleeping - had had the good sense to remain outside the tent.

 _Naturally_ a part of him would have _preferred_ if he and his wife had just been able to... _get on_ with things.   _But no_ , that wouldn’t have been _proper_. Lady Sansa was his _wife_ , Lady of Storm's End, _not_ one of Robert’s tavern wenches. He was not the brute she had first thought him to be; he wouldn’t have taken her maidenhead with the whole camp listening in.

 

Sansa sighed and changed the subject.

“C-could you tell me more about King's Landing or the Red Keep? In his last missive, Ser Brynden spoke of the Tower of the Hand, writing that although its hall is considerably smaller than the Keep’s Great Hall, it has a beautiful high-vaulted ceiling and enough space for two hundred...”

 

=

 

Sansa heaved a sigh, giving herself a once over using the front-facing camera on her iPad. Her long auburn hair shining quite pleasingly in the evening light, she placed the brush on the vanity. Putting the tablet away, she stood up to look through the room’s window.

She looked over the multitude of men, tents, and unloaded wagons. Although the inn was the largest of the journey – a key indication of how close they now were to King's Landing, as well as their proximity to the fork between the King’s Road and the Roseroad – most of the men were to sleep in tents on their last night. It wasn’t that surprising really. During the last two days, their travelling party seemed to have swollen to the size of a small village.

Even with so many still outside, with the dimming sunlight, the hustle-bustle, the jeers and curses, Sansa could find none tall enough, dark-haired enough, or who bore the unique frown her husband wore so easily.

 

Mary‘s earlier observation came back to bug her. Not that she had any problem with Mary herself – far from it. Even the remark in itself had been rather friendly and innocent. And yet, by reminding Sansa that this would be their last evening on the road – the last evening before Sansa would be in ‘ _chambers_ _truly fitting for a highborn lady_ ’ – her handmaiden had also pointed out that this was her last evening properly sharing a room with her husband.

A small huff escaped her lips. – _Judging_ _by the way things went last night, it’s quite possible that we’ll spend very little time together tonight_...

 _Then again_ , it was still relatively early.

 

Part of her still couldn’t believe Stannis and her had only known each other for barely more than a _month_.

A month where he had gone from him ensuring her _virginity was intact_ , to marrying her - neither of which were very fondly remembered moments in her life -, to them kissing… again and again. The kisses they had shared and the somewhat tame make-out sessions that had followed, being definitely much more pleasant - although slightly awkward - memories.

Their relationship had most _definitely_ improved since that first fateful meeting – _without a doubt_.

There were obviously certain things they were probably never going to agree on - clearly their views of Harry Potter were never going to properly align; especially since Stannis seemed to really have it in for Dumbledore. But Sansa knew most of these disagreements were due to the cultural-temporal difference between the two of them... _or_ due to Stannis just taking certain things too seriously – too much at face value. Her lip quirked briefly. - _Gods, he looked more than ready to have a stroke at the idea of Voldemort styling himself a_ lord _... I should really_ not _have brought that up. At least it will make him less likely to root for the bad guy_.

 

However, Sansa felt it was more than the bizarre start to their relationship, or the few misunderstandings they continued to have that put a wedge between Stannis and her. It was important to remember this wasn’t just ‘some relationship’. They were _married_. Not only that, but they had - _she_ had - been forced into this marriage... _They_ had been thrown together without any real preparation.

This in turn had meant that they hadn’t ever properly discussed all the ‘relationship stuff’: their expectations for the marriage. – _Well_ , there _had_ been those incredibly worrying comments Stannis had made before their wedding as well as on their wedding night... and there was of course the matter of the ‘heir’ that he constantly talked of... but... had he truly, fully, meant all of what he had told her?

Quite frankly, Sansa knew that her husband was definitely not the most eloquent of guys to begin with. Plus, she had no doubt – now, with some distance and further understanding - that some of the things they had both said at the start had been spoken with their emotions on a high, in the heat of the moment.

 _But_ \- he _had_ still clearly believed in the bulk of his words – however blunt and poorly chosen they _had_ been.

The question that now remained was if his expectations were still the same? – Would Stannis... did he expect that they ‘do their duty’ and then he would just go on with his life and her with hers... keeping his ‘involvement’ in her daily life to a bare minimum?

It would be foolish for Sansa to think these last few days were an indication of the norm. The trip had more or less forced this proximity to one another. It was true that he could have completely ignored her - left her in the wheelhouse, barely sharing any words or time with her - except for in their bed. On the other hand, maybe these few days - the efforts Stannis had made - were just a temporary ploy for him to finally get into her pants. _Honestly_ , Sansa knew enough about Twentieth Century guys to know men were ready to use any means necessary to get women to have sex with them - even though they cared more about the ‘sex’ element rather than the possibility of a pregnancy and baby.

And even if Stannis and she _had_ finally shared a couple of kisses - and rather hot make-out sessions, and had become more ‘physically comfortable’ with each other, this couldn’t be the whole basis of their marriage. They couldn’t just forget about the rest...

 _I mean, he’s not only going to be the one that is more than likely going to take my_ virginity _but there is a high possibility that he will be the_ only _guy I ever have sex with; share my whole body and self with_...

Disagreeing on Harry Potter was one thing but Sansa wanted them to get along and have a proper relationship on the whole. This meant that they would most definitely need to continue to get to know each other and properly share things … - _important_ things – _marriage_ issues. (For one, Sansa definitely had concerns about his parenting skills, especially with regards to daughters, even more so than with possible sons.)

But, it wouldn’t do to just _ram_ into those really awkward conversations... They hadn’t even had sex yet. And given how things had turned out the last time Sansa had commented on how he treated Shireen and the boys, it wouldn’t do to just blurt out that he was really bad in that particular duty... That wasn’t even delving into how he would possibly react if – _when_ \- she told him she didn’t want to become pregnant straight away.

No instead, it was probably best if Sansa _showed_ him her growing appreciation for him, in a non- _physical_ way... Show him that she cared for him more than just as the guy she was currently becoming more and more (physically) attracted to.

 _It isn’t like we can break up or whatever if we get in another disagreement... or even use kisses and eventually sex as a way to make up_ … _Could we?_

 

Her eyes still on the camp outside, she bit her lip as she tried to think of something that Stannis would possibly like, but that he wouldn’t see as a come-on of any kind. - _Though I wouldn’t mind receiving a small kiss of appreciation if he does like it..._

 

=

 

Stannis had greeted the dozen riders and received word that another dozen would arrive on the morrow from King's Landing, not long after sunrise. The only surprise there had been was to learn the additional honour guard would include two knights of the Kingsguard.

As for his later meeting with his own men, the only possible odd element had been Eddard. His friend had been unusually quiet during the meeting, even earlier, during the day, making Stannis wonder if something other than their arrival was weighing on his friend.

The meetings had ended later than he had hoped, but at least they were done now.

He had _bathed_ in the nearby stream before changing into a clean set of clothes, and now Stannis had - _finally_ \- reached the first landing to the inn, where his rooms had been prepared. The rooms he shared with Lady Sansa.

His heart seemed to be beating slightly faster than usual. He even had to wipe his hands on his breeches, as they started feeling oddly _damp_... He took a breath and then knocked on the door, trusting that his wife would still be awake.

“ _E-Enter_.”

The breath he hadn’t realised he was holding came out long and silent.

He barely acknowledged the possible quaver in his wife’s voice, but instead chastised himself for behaving like some callow youth.

Suitably rebuked, Stannis straightened his back, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Lady Sansa was standing by a chair, clearly having stood up at his entrance. He was _pleasantly_  surprised to note she was alone, her maid evidently having already been dismissed. That, and noticing that she was wearing her preferred – as well as _his_ preferred – nightdress, under a light summer robe.

Yet, her unease was apparent. Her posture was stiff, and her two hands were clenched in front of her. Stannis acknowledged that it was to be expected. Even though she was finally accepting him and her duty, she _was_ a virgin and naturally still had certain fears.

“My lady.”

“I... I trust your meetings ended well?”

With a stiff nod, he stepped further into the room, his hands brushing his sides once more. “Yes, they were satisfactory. We are to leave upon the hour of the lark*, once the rest of the honour guard arrives.”

“ _Oh_... right. Thank you for informing me. My uncle... one of my father’s men brought me a letter from Ser Brynden. He wrote that it would be best if I ride in the wheelhouse tomorrow.”

He was close to her now, just in front of her.

“Yes, it would probably be wise. Talk of our wedding - a second union between your father’s House and mine – has spread, and many have become interested. – That is unfortunately the way of court.”

“Yes... Uncle Brynden said as much. He also wrote that we would be going straight to the Great Hall in the Red Keep, to be presented to the king... Not only us, but Edmure and Shireen, too.”

“Aye, His Grace wishes to meet your father’s heir, as well as... mine own current one.” His reply ended with a certain tightness in his throat.

Stannis thought he noticed a slight flicker in Lady Sansa’s eyes, but decided it had probably only been a shadow from the candles.

 

A long pause followed, one dragging to the point of which Stannis contemplated reaching for her - possibly even tempting her into a kiss - when his wife suddenly shifted.

She moved to pick something up from the seat’s side table – a flat rectangular parcel of sorts. With her gaze fixed on it, her nervous behaviour only increased. Her nimble hands turned it over, the pads of her fingers gliding over its smooth surface, whilst Stannis continued to only silently observe. The object was mostly white, with decipherable golden lettering – _Lindt_.

“Where I was raised... when there is a wedding, the groom and bride receive wedding gifts. They even give each other presents, as a token of... appreciation for one another. I wasn’t sure what to give you, but then I remembered I had this in my bag. It... it’s called ‘ _chocolate’_. It’s a treat, t-to eat. Not like cakes though... It’s not that common; quite hard to find. The traveller, Merlin, gave me several the last time he came to the motherhouse...”

Not certain what to say, Stannis followed as she continued to explain, stuttering slightly as she presented her gift, unwrapping it for him. As soon as it was open, a curious smell hit his nostrils, as he noted the food-item having a dark brown colouring.

“... it can be in many forms. This is a type of ‘ _chocolate bar_ ’, but it can also be as a paste, liquid... small cube-type things... It can be sweet or, when darker, its more _bitter_... the darker it is the less sweet – more bitter it gets...”

He accepted the _‘chocolate’_ slowly, her fingers willingly letting him take it from her. Stannis remained silent whist Lady Sansa’s voice gave a last brief shake before she stopped speaking.

He studied it for a few moments: the texture was smooth and matte, there were grooves in its surface denoting large squares - most likely portions...

Lady Sansa’s voice – even softer and more hesitant – broke the silence once more.

“W-would you like to taste it?”

As the chocolate was meant to be eaten Stannis had expected the question, but it still gave him pause. He couldn’t think of any true reason for his wife to poison him, especially so _openly._ (She would be the first suspected if he _were_ poisoned). And yet, he had once thought Lysa had no reason to try to kill him. With everything that had already happened he could not take any foolish risks.

On the other hand, she would most likely not take it well if he accused her of such a thing – especially if she was innocent of any dishonourable machinations.

Thinking quickly, Stannis decided it would be best to play the fool. “How... how does one go about eating this... ‘ _chocolate bar_ ’?

Taking back the bar, she broke off one of the end pieces with a muffled _snap_ and bit into the ‘chocolate’ delicately, leaving an imprint of her teeth.

Following her actions, he tentatively broke a second square off and took a bite.

 

His eyes widened, pleasantly surprised. The initial taste was most definitely better than he had expected. Whilst the texture was soft, it definitely left a sharp note on his tongue – the slight bitterness Lady Sansa had promised.

Aware that she had swallowed her piece - and thus not ready to spit it out, being poisoned - Stannis did the same, with the action only intensifying the rather satisfying flavours more, the richness unexpectedly not bothering him but rather making the whole experience more complete and enjoyable. Without further ado, he proceeded to take the following bites until the rest of the square was gone.

 _Aye_ , it definitely not like the usual pastries that were usually far too sweet for Stannis' taste.

Looking from the tiny spot of ‘chocolate’ on his thumb back towards Lady Sansa and the rest of the chocolate bar, he wondered if he could ask for a second piece. – It _was_ his; she _had_ moments ago said it was a gift... a belated groom gift.

_Should I have given her a bridal gift?_

_B_ efore he could decide on the matter, or on the matter of a second piece of chocolate, this was when he noticed that his wife had a small stain of chocolate of her own. One close to the corner of her mouth where her plump rosy lips met.

The sight instantly made him want to lean forward and lick the dark smear off her pale skin, and discover whether the flavour was different... His throat – and other parts of his body – warmed and tightened at the idea of a comparison, and of a further... _tasting--_

 _What in the blazes_?

He shook his head sharply, breaking the spell.

 _No_ , this would not do. Lady Sansa had just offered him a gift, it would not do for him to act as a heathen and pounce on her as a way to show his gratitude.

Instead, Stannis took the effort to clear his dried throat and inform Lady Sansa of the small mark on her person – _albeit clumsily_ \- “You... my lady, you have a dab of... _chocolate_ on your cheek, just there.” He lifted his finger somewhat hesitantly, indicating to the spot.

At his words, a slight blush appeared on her cheeks, Lady Sansa clearly embarrassed. Stannis groaned internally as his wife proceeded to shift and look away as her hand quickly wiped her face.

The intriguing pink shade still visible on her face, even if the lady now refused to properly meet his gaze, there was thankfully only the slightest tremble in her voice when she spoke.

“D-did I get it?”

Stannis’ jaw tightened, his discomfort only increasing. He couldn’t well inform her that she had only smeared the stain further. As an alternative he moved his fingers over his own cheek, in imitation of where the smudge was. Lady Sansa rubbed the spot once more.

“ _B-better_?”

Knowing it would probably only grieve her more, Stannis posed, “Allo- would you allow me to...” his hand rising on the ready.

Looking back up at him, her tongue very briefly pocked out, flicking her bottom lip, before she gave a small nod and smile, “Yes... _please_.”

He leaned forward – noting the way her flowery smell became more pronounced - and brushed his thumb with care along her cheek - and possibly also some of her lip - a couple of times. The shards of pale azure and silver in her gaze seemed to sparkle in the firelight as he stared into her eyes, his touch perhaps lingering a fraction longer than entirely necessary.

Next was a definite hitch of her breath as his thumb passed over the juncture between mouth and cheek for the final time.

 

=

_So much for showing him my growing_ appreciation _and_ consideration _of him, in a_ non-physical _way_...

 

Sansa wet her lips, her mouth having gone abruptly as dry as a Dornish summer. His gaze reverting upon them, tension seemed to tighten his own lips and jaw.

Sansa followed as the focus of his gaze shifted several times between her eyes and lips, as his enlarged pupils advertised his... _interest_.

She only had the time to briefly wonder if Stannis would always be this _reserved_ at the thought of kissing her, when his firm lips pressed against hers... To be quickly followed by his tongue gliding ever so lightly on the corner of her mouth, which, she could only assume, still had a tiny amount of dark chocolate.

The action continued in its advance from there. She let out a tiny gasp as she felt his tongue run along her lower lip. Sighing, she readily capitulated and parted her mouth, more than willing to let him taste _more_. As for herself: she could only think that the tang of dark chocolate definitely suited him.

 

They continued to kiss until neither of them could breathe. Their lips parted, their foreheads pressed against one another, as their mouths panted, trying to recover from the lack of air to their lungs.

Sense coming back to her, Sansa wasn’t surprised to realise that her body had fused into his, with his arms now encircling her smaller frame, and that even her own hands currently gripped the stiff leather of his jerkin.

Moving slightly back, her gaze gauged his own.

His eyes were definitely dark - almost black, like looking down two endless pits. Not to mention the predatory feel of his stare, accentuated by the room's candlelight. In spite of the thrill the purposeful look sent, it also gave her pause.

As did his next words.

“We should move to the bed, my lady”, his voice sounding deeper, _rougher_ than before.

Her heart beat faster. She wanted to concur, or at least give a firm nod of agreement. Yet, her head jerk was tentative at best, and her steps were small and few, before they ultimately stopped short. The gap between their bodies widened until a brief tug between their two hands - his large one still guiding hers forward – alerted Stannis that she was no longer following him.

Stopping as well, he turned to face her, a deeper frown than his usual one marring his face.

“My lady... _Sansa?_...”

“I...” - Her throat hitched, her gaze going between the forbidding bed, the large man facing her, and the floor.

 

=

 

A foreboding dread ran through Stannis as he watched his wife shift uneasily, her hand letting go of his, to once more clasp together, and her bottom lip was assailed by her teeth.

One proved correct when she finally found her words.

“Before we move to the.... b-bed... I just want to make sure we are on the same page...”

“...page?”

Her edginess unfortunately only increased.

“Yeah... _page_. You see, Stannis, as _p-pleasant_ as our kiss was, and how going things are going – all very pleasant.... I believe that I- _we -_ are not ready to... to... do the ‘ _consummating’_.”

There was a deafening suspension. Stannis’ mind blanking.

... Before she then quickly added - “I just don’t want us to be moving _too fast_.”

 

Stannis bit back a groan, for his obtuseness. He should have expected her words. This momentary reticence. She was understandably scared, her maidenly fears taking over once more, now that they were about to - _finally_ \- do their duty. - He just needed to reassure her.

 _Yes_ , he would reassure her.

“Sansa, I will... I will not lie; there is some pain the first time for a maiden. But I will be careful when I take your maidenhead...”

Oddly, instead of being appeased and possibly even comforted by his words, she was _frustrated_ by the response, even going so far as to let out a _huff_.

“I _know_ , I- I’m not doubting _you_... your ‘skills’. It’s just that... _well_... I am just not ready for... _everything_ , just yet. _We_ aren’t ready for everything. Stannis, we’ve only kissed a hand full of times – the first time being only _two_ days ago. W-we _need_ more time than that for us to... understand and be more comfortable with each other.”

His jaw tensed, definitely _not_ agreeing with her words.

He most assuredly did _not_ need more _time_ ; his body was _plenty_ ‘ _comfortable’_ with hers. They had been married a _week_. A _week_ of him having been remised of a rather important duty; of _their_ most important marital duty... one that was only increasing in urgency with each passing day.

A part of him – however ridiculous it was - was convinced the Wall had been built faster than it would take him to finally get his _heir_.

 

Calming his displeasure, reminding himself that she was only fearful of the unknown, Stannis tried to rein in a certain level of patience, “Sansa—”

— However, before he could voice his thoughts, – as ridiculous as it was – she actually _interrupted_ him, _groaning_ , “Even if we _did_ sleep together, it’s not like I would get pregnant _anyway_.”

Stannis flinched, before his grimace came back tenfold as he snapped –“ _What_?... Why?”

 

=

 

Sansa nearly wailed out all the thoughts and frustrations building up inside her. – By the Old Gods, she _knew_ she should have said those last words.

But the situation had just gotten the best of her.

In all honesty, she even understood Stannis’ frustration, obvious on his face. He _had_ clearly been expecting sex (- _not too different from_ any _guy really_ ). So much so, he _even_ looked as if he was two seconds from stomping his foot on the ground like a child who wasn’t getting his way. The picture he gave would have possibly made her smile if she hadn’t been so tense and exasperated.

Why couldn’t things be _simple_?...Why couldn’t he just understand that this was already quite a big step for her? That having sex was still just another one that was just _too huge_. – She was only _eighteen_ for crying out loud! He _could_ have just a bit more patience with her!

 

Stannis’ voice – even harder – broke the silence.

“My lady, what did you mean by your last words?”

“W-well…” Sansa couldn’t help the stammer, as she tried to find the word; an appropriate explanation. At the bluntness of his demand, her nerves unfortunately were getting the best of her once more.

It wasn’t like she could explain to Stannis that she was on the _pill_ , and as such, – no matter how many times they had sex – she wouldn’t become pregnant. As bad as he was currently taking things, Sansa was pretty sure her informing him that the drug she was taking since fifteen to help regulate her periods, which also acted as a 99.9% efficient contraceptive, would make things a hundred times worse.

 _\- Gods… and the evening had started so well_.

 

She felt her face go bright red, her stammering worsening as she instead decided to explain,

“Well... my... that is to say, m-my time... the b-blood, it’s supposed to come very soon, in a couple of days or so...”

Thankfully, however blank his face had become, he seemed to have understood her meaning. As such, Sansa decided to quickly finish the rest of the explanation before he could possibly ask _why_ her mentioning her next period was in any way relevant, “... So – _hum_ – so close to ‘ _my time’_ , c-conception of a child is highly unlikely.”

Unfortunately, with the added comment, doubt returned on his face and tone, “How can you know?”

Sansa couldn’t help but glare back – “It’s just one of those things girls earn as they... _mature_.” – _Thank you middle school sex-ed and biology classes._

There was a pause, before with his frown still firmly in place – obviously not at all pleased by her ‘news’ – Stannis probed in a tone definitely not as eloquently as Sansa would have liked,

“If so - how do you suggest we ‘ _get more comfortable’_ with one another.”

“ _Well_... we could do other things.”

There was a slight gleam - his eyes seeming to darken - at the suggestion, but Stannis only gave a nod for her to proceed.

“We could… build up from kissing… you know… _e-explore_ , continue on from what we have already done, to get a better understanding of our likes and dislikes.”

From the frown becoming less pronounced, the possibility in her words had undoubtedly increased his curiosity.

And yet, being Lord Big-and-Muscly, it seemed he couldn’t help but retort,

“This is about _duty_ , not pleasure.”

Sansa felt her hands fist at her side, as her mouth pursed in frustration,

“ _Yes_... I _know_ , but given how ‘ _doing our duty’_ for its own sake would be... _fruitless_ at this particular moment, shouldn’t we take the time to _learn_ each other’s... b-bodies, so that when we _do_ ultimately do our duty, it is also more... _enjoyable_.”

There was another hiatus - him reflecting on her words - before Stannis huffed a sharp “ _very well_ ” – as if _he_ was the one who was making a huge effort, and she was the one who was being difficult.

Tampering her own annoyance, Sansa decided it best not to retort. – He had agreed to not have sex just yet, and take it somewhat slower. That was all that mattered…

 

On the other hand, seeing as he continued to look at her with that ridiculous pout-frown, Sansa quickly realized that _she_ would have to take the first step. That he was clearly waiting for her to expand on what these ‘other things’ were.

 _Like I bloody well know_ …

 

With a small sigh, Sansa moved closer to him until they stood even closer than they had been before the ‘ _chocolate tasting_ ’.

Unfortunately, with the revisited close-proximity, her eyes going between his guarded eyes and the rest of him, her nerves returned, and her heart beat increased. She felt her tongue unconsciously pass over the tips of her upper teeth before they bit into her lower lip.

Although resolved, she couldn’t fully stop the tremor her hands and arms as she raised them.

She was about to bring her hands forward... But before she reached him, Sansa paused. Her eyes went from the expanse of his chest to look up to meet his own even darkened gaze.

Her voice breathless, she asked,

" _M-may_ I?"

There was only a nod, the two dark blue pools ready to follow her movements.

Another nervous bite... a tiny cautious step towards him – not able to just move her hands –... and the tips of her fingers touched the jerkin, landing on its laces.

There was a brief pause, her eyes meeting his once more. Receiving no censure, or comment of any kind, she started undoing them. The action felt like it took hours, especially with Lord Big and Muscly being all _big_ and _muscly_... and unmoving – remaining perfectly motionless -, as if _suspended_.

It was only the heart beat she felt once the laces were done, that proved that he was still alive. She looked up once again, before pushing the two sides open, showing the shirt beneath.

Unfortunately it was then that Sansa found herself at an impasse. Stannis was just too tall for her to be able to continue. Her throat tight, she could only whisper, “Would... could you...” before her arms lifted, mimicking what she hoped he would do.

No suggestions had really been necessary, as with a few quick movements from his part, both jerkin and shirt were soon removed and tossed to the side...

... for her to be presented with the sight of a bare chest.

 

Sansa felt her throat give a long gulp, her eyes unable to move.

Last time Stannis’ chest had been in full view had been on their wedding night. - Needless to say, Sansa had other more things on her mind then.

But, now...

– _Yep,_ definitely _big_ and _muscly_.

Her wonder surpassed any apprehension. Unable to break eye contact with it, her hands – fingers _and_ palms - touched the firm, but warm skin... slowly moving across the hard pecks, to the several scars and other marks that marked it... that made the man in front of her even _manlier_ than ever.

 

Her exploration continued until a sudden twitch and accompanying muffled groan made her hands jerk off, just as Sansa had been starting to pass over one of his longer – _angrier_ – scars on the inside of his hip bone.

The spell broken, her cheeks flushed bright red. Her hands once more clasping together, Sansa quickly started to splutter – “I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to hurt you...”

But her throat hitched, when her eyes met his.

From the clenched jaw and hard eyes, he definitely seemed in _pain_ (- as well as appearing somewhat affronted by the idea that she could hurt him physically). However, the ‘pain’ he was still clearly experiencing, was undoubtedly _not_ in the way she had believed. Understanding dawning on Sansa, her neck and face went _crimson_.

– _Gods, I’m such a naïve idiot_.

 

His own voice was low and ominous as he clearly tried to reassure her – even with his ‘ _pain’_.

“You didn’t hurt me, my lady, the wound is old. The sensation was just...- _hum_ \- _unexpected_.”

At a loss as what else to do, still blushing like a thirteen year old, Sansa only gave a small nod.

 

Although still embarrassed as well as now even more aware of his aroused state, in the few breathes Sansa proceeded to take, her brain thankfully started to work again – however sporadically.

She met Stannis’ gaze – “I... would it be alright if we moved to the bed?”

Sansa took his odd head jerk as him agreeing. She promptly moved around him, to remove her robe and quickly slide under the sheets.

Thankfully by the time she was properly settled, and had finally had the courage to look over - her mind whirling less - Sansa found Stannis was also abed, looking expectantly at her, awaiting for the next of these ‘other things’.

She found this new position oddly reassuring. Although the level of intimacy could be considered more pronounced, their overall proximity was more or less the same as before. In any case, their bodies were now at same height - at same level - and thus seemed less daunting. Sansa felt herself able to relax some.

Her gaze landed on his uncovered chest, reminding her of her ‘exploration’.

Looking away, Sansa unfortunately then found Stannis’ gaze very much still focused on _her_ teddy and her chest, which her robe no longer covered.

A part of her was tempted to raise the bed sheets and cover herself. However Sansa stopped herself, only scrunching the material in her fits. With a self-chastisement, she reminded herself that Stannis _had_ – and even continued to be – obliging to her requests. _– He is a man... a Dragon Age man at that. Would it be so bad to let him get something in return?_

 

Although the internal tension returned, Sansa leaned over and took his hand, to draw him closer to her, as she let herself slowly sink into the mattress.

Now more or less hovering over her, instead of letting go of him, she placed the large hand on her teddy’s strap, and slowly guided it down the length of her arm. Shivers and goose bumps erupted on her skin as both hands and strap passed. Her eyes focused on his, she blindly moved and bent her arm so to ‘free’ herself from the teddy’s strap...

The cool air of the room hitting her skin indicated that her breast was no longer covered. That and the fact that Stannis’ dark blue eyes moved with between her eyes and the fore mentioned part of her body – clearly wondering if he should look at her face or breast.

But, unlike her, he seemed frozen in his current position, incapable of movement.

Unable to take the ever lengthening pause, Sansa suggested breathlessly,

“W-would you help me remove the other one.”

He most definitely did not need her assistance this time round. Though clearly taking care not to possibly hurt her, in a flash the second strap was lowered; – so fast that Sansa momentarily worried if he broke the impending string, instead of ‘liberating her arm from it’.

 

Her chest was now bare, her teddy falling level with her belly button.

His own chest was rising and falling steadily - the control and immobility he had when Sansa had been ‘studying’ his chest having definitely vanished.

However, Stannis’ study and general inactivity continued for so long that Sansa soon found herself wanting to cover her nakedness.

Throat tight, she found the will to ask – “W-would you kiss me?”

 

Gratefully, the request had the desired effect. His stare going from her chest to her eyes and lips, he lowered himself with care - tightening his embrace, his bare chest covering her own - before he slowly kissed her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Stannis' thoughts on the 'events' at the end will be included in the next chapter ;P
> 
> * Hour of the lark – not actually one of the times that have already been stated in ASOIAF (hour of the wolf, hour of the owl...) but based on the movements/times of a lark, went with it. - It’s supposed to be around 9-10ish in the morning.


	29. PART II, Chapter 9 - Morning has Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU (again) to Sarah for looking through this chapter an correcting it/making suggestions/improvements through it.
> 
> [Thank you also to Dolphin Rider and Sarah_Black for helping me reduce Sansa's dress selection from over a dozen to one (+ one cloak)]

 

_By the Seven_ , he really did not have the time to spare to be distracted by such... _things_.

His time was required for important matters; focusing on his lands and keep, on his much needed heir, on the future of his House, on the affairs of the realm... At this moment in time, his attention and actions should be dedicated to the honour guard arriving soon, to the journey through King's Landing, and even more so to the meeting with the king.

 

And yet, instead of rising, Stannis continued to lay awake, staring at the timber crossbeams overhead.

He felt tired and restless at the same time, as if he had not slept whilst his mind refused to rest. In fact, Stannis was certain he had only dozed a couple of hours at a time, waking up sporadically throughout the night with a small, supple body pressed gently against his own.

Indeed, whilst some of his reveries had been of the king, of what lay ahead, or of Storm's End, or even of his youth in the Vale with Eddard, most... most had been of his wife. A wife still in name only. Whose body continued to cover most of his presently. Whose smooth naked flesh even now remained semi-exposed, rubbing softly against his equally bare chest, as she shifted, mumbled, and sighed ever so delicately as her sleep continued.

_Aye_ – he really did not have the time for such distracting frivolities.

And yet, here he stayed, unmoving, his arm embracing her naked back, his left hand resting on her hip... His other hand was itching to move and cover her own one that was resting on his chest.

For not the first time – and most likely not the last – he couldn’t help but think that his wife was a peculiar lady. One moment she appeared compliant and amenable, ready to be his dutiful wife. The next she would protest any progress he called-for, claiming unreadiness and unease... Only to then contradict herself once more with her following actions.

He supposed he couldn’t begrudge her that her courses would start so soon.

Septa Baela had naturally assured him that Lady Sansa did not have her woman’s blood on their wedding night, but since then, the matter being a woman’s issue, he had not given it any more thought. When Stannis and Lysa had done their duty, it had been timed to occur at the most opportune moment of her moon cycle. It was understandable that his second wife - a highborn lady - had been instructed to lie with her husband during such propitious times. Bearing an heir was her most important duty, after all.

He gave a small huff a thought from the previous night repeating itself - _this momentary disruption did not signify that we could not have affirmed our vows and made the marriage valid_.

But to argue as such had not seemed wise in her agitated state.

 

Lady Sansa had had the right notion: it _was_ best to ensure their bodies responded well with one another. A lady put at ease and whose body was well _prepared_ would be more _receptive_. Thus the penetration would be less uncomfortable, and a conception would even be more probable (– at least according to his lord father, one of the few times they had discussed such things.*)

These thoughts in mind, he had decided it would best to indulge her, in hope that it would help appease her maidenly worries even more, as their shared kisses seemed to do.

 

However he had definitely not expected her subsequent actions.

Stannis, even now, wondered if Lady Sansa’s... initiative had thought it would placate him after informing him of her unwillingness to consummate their vows as well as her body’s impending... complication.

Her apprehension had been evident. He had noticed it on her face, as well as in the slowness of her actions. The number of times she had bit her lip, her hands had shook, and her eyes had shied in wariness had only continued to grow as the evening progressed, tempting a part of him to halt the proceedings.

He really _should have_ informed her that all this was unnecessary, and that marital duties were done in the dark, and nudity – especially upper nudity – was superfluous. The extent of familiarity and awareness she had encouraged last evening was undeniably not required for them to be successful in creating his heir. – The only time Stannis had seen Lysa in an excessive state on undress had been on their wedding night, when they had both been stripped to their small clothes during the bedding ceremony.

Truthfully, Lady Sansa’s actions had been rather... _Dornish_. It was all the more surprising to him that his innocent, motherhouse-raised bride had initiated such things.

_Aye_ – it was the curiosity mixed with her anxiety that truly gave him pause.

 

Then, as well as now, Stannis found it odd that Lady Sansa had cared to see his bare chest. Frankly, given her previous reticence, Stannis had been worried that the sight of a hefty span of male flesh, with its numerous scars and marks would have put her in a hysterical state. He had only been able to stare, unmoving, waiting for the inevitable fright to take hold of her, as her nimble fingers had started detaching the laces of his jerkin. It had taken most of his self control to keep breathing steadily and stay still, worrying that any action on his part would only increase her terror.

And yet his virgin bride had persisted, silently demanding the removal of his jerkin and his cotton shirt...  The worry visible on her face had dimmed to intrigue; could he even say... _awe_? She _had_ proceeded to _pet_ him, after all. In all honesty, although the subsequent actions had been unexpected, they had been rather... _enjoyable_... A bit too enjoyable unfortunately, eliciting certain sensations and images - mainly images of her hands going lower than the level of his breeches - that had made things _uncomfortable_.

It had certainly not been a septa who had encouraged such deeds. Which left Stannis once more wondering if the whole undertaking had been for his benefit, innocent curiosity, or if one of her past companions had incited such... interests.

His confusion was further reinforced by Lady Sansa having partially unclothed _herself_ , all whilst the candles still burned throughout the room.

Naturally, it had been his right as her husband to look.

And he wouldn't deny that the sight had been... _pleasant_. Yes, he would definitely describe it as such. If he was frank, Stannis acknowledged that the extent of his vocabulary proved lacking in finding the appropriate words befitting of the vision he had been privy to.

But her continued bold actions made Stannis wonder if her companion, Arya, had put such notions in her head; that this was how women needed to act for their husband or lover. Reflecting on the whole matter further, Stannis recalled that Lady Sansa had confessed that she had not only kissed a boy but also another _girl_. Their own shared kiss that evening, two days hence, had distracted him then, but Stannis was certain Lady Sansa had said as such. This was most definitely _Dornish_. Dornish lords and ladies held to a different set of customs and scruples in relation to tradition, duty, marriage... on exchanging paramours and having a line of bastards.

It wasn't only the Dornish though; Lysa had done both.

His jaw tightened.

What did he actually know of the place where Lady Sansa had been brought up? - The Blackfish had spoken of a secluded place, safe in the Neck. But what had been taught at this ‘motherhouse’? Would it be for him to now guide his young, impressionable wife on proper decorum?

His stomach turned at the thought.

 

A hum interrupted his brooding; – a sigh of contentment.

Stannis blinked and looked down at his wife. Somehow the tips of his fingers had decided to start moving in small circular movements on her hip - caressing the silk material that provided his wife with a modicum of modesty - as if absent-mindedly stroking a pup or a kitten.

Stannis stiffened at the sight.  His hand instinctively left the nightwear as though he had just been burnt.

_By the Seven, I am becoming no better than a lust-filled fool_.

Aghast, Stannis let a groan escape him, as he realised – _no, I am becoming Robert_.

_By the Seven_ \- it wasn’t only his naive wife that was at risk of losing all sense of decorum. He was at risk, too. Terrible risk.

 

The unwelcome thought brought Stannis on edge. With the rising sun and the sounds of men and horses moving about outside increasing in volume, Stannis finally found the strength and resolve to leave the bed. His duties were required him elsewhere.

With an amount of delicacy Stannis hadn’t known he possessed, he moved Lady Sansa off of his chest to the other side of the bed. There was possibly a slight moan of protest, but thankfully her eyes remained closed. Soon she would have to learn that lust and self-indulgence had no place in a dutiful marriage.

Free, Stannis swiftly left the comfort of the bed to grab the shirt and jerkin that had been so carelessly left of the floor and put them on. No longer bare, he went for his boots near the door. As he pulled them on, he looked to the bed, making sure Lady Sansa was still asleep.

Yet, at the action, her back was all the more visible to him, and Stannis was unable to stop himself from taking in the length of it. His attention was however caught by a red mark.

Her scar.

His brows creased at the strange flaw marring her otherwise perfect skin. He recognised it as the one Cressen had mentioned from his examination. A surge of fury ran through him at the thought of anyone harming _his_ wife. At least, both the maester and Ser Bryden had assured him, before the wedding, that the injury should have no impact on her ability to bear children **.**

He hadn’t noticed it the previous evening. He could only assume that her nightwear had not been lowered enough for him to notice it… Especially when he had then busied himself with kissing her soft, sweet tasting lips and covering her smooth porcelain skin with his body, Lady Sansa placing her small hands on his back and neck, going so far as to scratch his skin with her nails-

_-No_.

His hand curled into fists, his jaw tightened. It would not do, nor would it benefit him in any way to recall such a moment.

As for the scar, if he had noticed it, Stannis wouldn’t have been careless enough to have mentioned it. It would have been unwise to do so and thus risk increasing her anxiety. Lady Sansa more than likely did not want any possible reminder of its creation. Ser Brynden had even spoken of her having forced the memory from her mind.

 

As if sensing eyes on her, the lady on the bed stirred. That was before Lady Sansa let out a long – rather sensuous - sigh whilst stretching the whole of her sinuous form. Her head lifted from the pillow slowly, turning to her left… before more of her body lifted and turned to search the rest of the room.

All too soon, her mismatched blue-grey eyes found Stannis’.

The connection only lasted a few moments though, before she lowered her gaze, her cheeks colouring, her teeth went for her lower lip and her body shifted as Lady Sansa lifted the bed sheets to regain a certain level of modesty.

And yet, his gaze continued to linger.

Her hair was mussed some from sleep, but this did not make the long auburn strands any less appealing. In fact the red in it shined like copper in the morning light. The vision was so alluring, and her hair looked so thick and soft, that it had Stannis wondering what it would be like to properly pass his hand through it, or even what it might be like to brush the hair himself, instead of having her maid do it.**

 

Stannis shook his head. _Fool_.

 

His throat suddenly dry and tight, Stannis gave a small cough before addressing her.

“Good morning, my lady. The honour guard will be arriving soon enough. I need to ready myself... bathe and clothe... wash... clothes...”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and hair, stopping any more incomprehensible blather.

 

Sleep leaving her, his words seemed to hover for a moment before understanding appeared on her face.

His throat still tight, Stannis forced himself to add, “I will send for your maid and a bath to be brought.”

 

He gave her a final look and nod, opened the door, and left.

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

She could hear the increase in noises – horses neighing, their hooves stomping impatiently, the sounds of man and steel echoing each other – as if they were all in competition with the fluttering inside her. But Sansa refused to look, for she knew the scene outside would only make her more nervous.

To be fair - her wedding not-withstanding - Sansa had already been to her fair share of events that demanded a certain level of energy and self-assurance. With the importance of the Stark name, and even the Tully name, she had been to enough dinners and parties in the upper echelons of society to know how to conduct herself. (Unlike Arya, much to Aunt Branda’s dismay.)

On the other hand, it wasn’t everyday you would meet a king... an infamous king at that; – one who would end up becoming most known in History for burning people alive.

Her stomach sank further. _Yay... so excited_...

Trying to push some of the dread away and stay composed, Sansa passed her hands down her skirts, looking between her iPad screen and the nonexistent creases of the dress. The black matte silk organza, and added gold details and silk chiffon above, were smooth and bright; the wrinkles still absent. - Though, if she continued to fidget, this would probably not be the case for much longer.

There was no more she could do. It was time to head down.

A long heavy sigh escaped her.

To be honest, she should have already headed down, as Mary as suggested three minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago, when she had returned to the room and her mistress.

 

Her brow creased, and her lips thinned in disappointment as she recalled Stannis leaving the room ages ago... in a manner not too different from how you would expect a 20th Century guy escaping a one-night stand. He hadn’t even woken her, or greeted her with a morning kiss... on the lips, or even on the cheek. Clearly the previous evening had done nothing to make him think of her as anything more than the woman to give him his heir.

She looked away from the iPad, not wanting to see the forlorn gaze reflected.

With the act, her eyes landed on the note Mary had furtively passed to her when they had first entered the room. It was from Ser Brynden, sent through one of the swarm of men standing outside waiting for the procession to begin. The short message was one last reminder of the dangers of King's Landing – talking of a ‘ _viper's nest’_ \- all the while wishing her good fortune upon her arrival in the capital. Unfortunately, instead of reassuring her in any way, the feelings the note conveyed had brought to mind the dark words spoken by Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth:

“ _Your face, my thane, is as a book where men_

_May read strange matters. To beguile the time,_

_Look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye,_

_Your hand, your tongue. Look like th' innocent flower,_

_But be the serpent under ’t. He that’s coming...”_ ***

 

Which of course had done nothing to alleviate the dread growing inside her.

Regrettably, the message had also had the unwanted effect of pointing out that – unlike her ‘uncle’ - Sansa’s husband had done little to warn or reassure her of what they were facing in their stay amongst royalty and the court. The most he had done was respond to her largely superfluous questions about the capital.

And yet, another voice in her mind reminded Sansa: - _Stannis continues to be patient with you... he treated you with care last night, letting you set the pace... Do not forget that with all that was happening, it was understandable that he has a lot on his mind_...

But the first voice persisted. - _He hasn’t taken the time to speak with me... explain himself or what is to come... share what is on his mind... he doesn’t care to inform me_... _he only speaks of my duties, our vows, and his heir..._

Sansa shook her head from the unwelcome thoughts. – This was not the time to try to understand the conundrum that was her husband.

 

With a shaky sigh, she ran her slightly shaking hand over her hair, pulling the loose strands behind her ear, before shutting the tablet’s screen off.

She turned to find Mary’s eyes blink away from the anachronistic object. (Although her maid had become used to seeing certain of her 20th century objects occasionally – especially her iPhone and iPad – she had never commented on them, even though the steady interest was always clear on her face.) The tiniest of smiles formed on her lips at the sight, but Sansa continued to move to her bag as if she hadn’t noticed anything.

Instead of finally satisfying her maid’s curiosity, Sansa only turned to face her fully. Looking from Mary down to her outfit, she hoped there would be no tremble in her voice.

“Do you think this will do for  my presentation at court?” – _You know, so King Cray-Cray won’t want to burn me alive on sight_?...

 

As might be expected, ever since she had learnt that she would be meeting King Aerys II Sansa had dreaded the event. However, the one good thing that had come from the news was realising that she would need a set of suitable dresses for court; - not just readjusting Lady Lysa’s dresses. (And, in all honestly, especially now that she was married to him, Sansa wasn’t all that keen on wearing Stannis’ ex-wife’s stuff.)

In their few talks and letters, Brynden had spoken often enough of ‘unity’ between House Tully and House Baratheon with her marriage. To which, Sansa had taken in that it would be more appropriate for her to wear her husband’s colours rather than her favoured blue (and the crimson red).

This in mind, with Brynden’s continued warnings (and summer approaching), Sansa had approached the somewhat daunting undertaking of a new wardrobe, with the assistance of Mary and the servants of Storm’s End, in the few days before her wedding and to continue on the road. She had gone for light materials for the new dresses... airy... And _gold_. Gold silks or detailing, with either the appropriate black - though not too much black, as it was getting rather hot.... not to mention, the colour made her look rather pale and sullen, and they already had her husband for that - or with pale colours - creams, pinks, greys, blues… All inspired by her ‘ _lord husband’s_ colours as well as the whole _‘motherhouse-pious_ ’ image. Let them think her no more than a naive and gullible motherhouse-raised young bride; – this would definitely help in the capital, especially if she made any foolish remarks.

Still, for this first appearance, black and gold it was. The long sleeves and neckline were veiled by intricate golden details, continuing below her bust, whilst the rest of the dress was done in light, matte black silks, tightened around her chest and hips to then drape down the length of her legs.

 

At least, Mary seemed to approve. “You look beautiful my lady.” The note of awe and reassurance was palpable in the other woman’s voice and gaze.

Comforted and relieved, Sansa asked about Shireen and Edmure, wanting to make sure they were also appropriately dressed and prepared. Thankfully, Mary was quick to reassure her that both were ready; having already left the inn, they were now within the wheelhouse with Sarra, waiting.

 

Her thoughts had only just moved to Edric, who she knew wouldn’t be present during their meeting with the king, when the calmness of the room was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door: Lord Big and Muscly’s squire had been sent by his lord to inquire on Sansa’s own readiness.

**.**

 

The final pieces of her stuff packed and brought down, her father’s ring placed on her finger, her black outer-cloak put on, the path down through the inn made, the sense of restlessness had only increased. Especially as it appeared that the rest of the royal escort had indeed arrived and was waiting for her.

 

The sight outside made Sansa more apprehensive than ever.

The riders overflowed the courtyard in front of the inn in a river of black, red, silver and polished steel. And to make the image complete, flapping over all their heads were half-a-dozen black banners, emblazoned with three red dragons.

As she got closer, her step didn’t improve as her gaze landed on the two men at the front of the party talking with Stannis. Whilst Lord Big and Muscly was in his usual black – though he actually seemed to be in a nicer doublet, with more detailing and a richer material than his usual leather jerkin – both of the other two men wore snow-white cloaks and armour so fine and gorgeous that it made Sansa rethink _her_ cloak and outfit; suddenly she worried they were possibly lacking.

From what she remembered from History classes - as well as Cressen’s books - Sansa could only assume the two were knights of the Kingsguard... _Crazy Aerys’ Kingsguard_.

The one whose face was uncovered and who was currently speaking with Stannis was an older man – older than even Ser Brynden Tully. But he was handsome, and not actually that scary, Sansa decided as she got closer that he looked like a younger Gandalf, whose beard and hair had not yet grown fully. He had the same blue eyes, and the full white ensemble - armour, cloak, and shield. _Gandalf the White._  Even if he was in his early fifties, the impression he gave made you believe he had the strength and skill of a men twenty years his junior.

 

Alas, as if sensing her eyes on them - or maybe the many other stares going towards her - the three turned in her direction.

A frozen smile in place, Sansa was about to greet the Gandalf knight when his companion removed his helm. Her gaze was pulled to him... only for her breath to hitch in her throat a mere second later.

_\--Joffrey_

The reaction was so immediate and so quick that she hoped none – Stannis included – had noticed. Especially since, at second glance, Sansa realised how foolish her reaction had been. Apart from the obvious fact that her ex was far away back in the 20th Century, the Golden knight was older, manlier and more buff than Joffrey had ever been. Not to mention, even more good looking than Joffrey at his best. Sansa would have been blind not notice how utterly _gorgeous_ this knight was: like one of those Hollywood actors that looked magnificent even when playing dirty, scruffy hobos.

Hoping she wasn’t drooling (– yes, she could still very much appreciate a gorgeous blonde, even with Joffrey had put her off them a bit –) Sansa forced her smile to widen the correct amount as Stannis introduced the two men.

“My lady, Ser[ Barristan Selmy](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Barristan_Selmy), Ser[ Jaime Lannister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jaime_Lannister) of His Grace, King Aerys II’s Kingsguard... -Sers, my bride, Lady Sansa Baratheon of Storm's End.”

 

Sansa thanked the Seven and the Old Gods that she was mid-curtsy, her head was bowed and her eyes lowered - no one able to properly see her face - as the introduction had carried on.

_Now_... the most avid of historians would have known of _Barristan the Bold_. Sansa, for herself, could recall the hour long speeches about how _amazing_ with a sword the knight had been, even well into his seventies. The memories were vivid, as Sansa had been forced to impatiently listen to these lectures from her grandfather, before he would relent and tell her of something far more entertaining for a nine year old girl: like the story of the Little Mermaid.

On the other hand, if there was one thing people loved more than a good tragic romance - Romeo and Juliette, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Brokeback Mountain,... _Lyanna and Rhaegar_... - it was tragic heroes - or antiheroes depending on how one looked at it. Achilles, Severus Snape, Napoleon, Bruce Wayne,... _Jaime Lannister_... The average person didn’t necessarily remember the name of the cousin Romeo killed in the play - or – _you know_ \- the guy Lyanna Stark was supposed to marry... _hum_... _talk about awkward_ \- but they did usually recognise the name _‘Achilles’_ , who was a super bad-ass and helped defeat the Troyans... or ‘ _Jaime Lannister’_ , the only member of the Westerosi Kingsguard to ever kill his king.

Over the years many versions of the story had been told. Of course, sometimes they had more or less missed the mark, going so far as to give the Dragon Age knight a forbidden love interest – a few times that big lady-knight, or princess Elia, or even Queen Rhaella... and twice actually going so far as to create a weird twin-cest forbidden love story (– _umm...hello, he wasn’t a Targaryen_ -) but the latest version actually called ‘the Kingslayer’ had gotten Nikolaj Coster-Waldau his first Oscar nomination only a year before Sansa was sent to the Dragon Age (- even though he was a forty something supposed to be playing someone clearly in their twenties, given the guy in front of her now).

Controlling her features, smile in place, she slowly raised herself from her curtsy, her eyes meeting the older blue ones and then green ones – ones that seemed all the more sombre and joyless than her own. **** A look that did not reassure Sansa one bit.

 

And yet, she forced the look of pleasure and welcome to stay as she spoke.

“Ser Barristan Selmy... Ser Jaime Lanniser...”

 

As they greeted her in turn, and her gaze then followed the younger knight from the corner of her eye as she joined the children in the wheelhouse, Sansa couldn’t help but continue to wonder on what this Jaime Lannister would think if he knew now that he was going to kill the man - the Mad King - he had sworn to protect? Would he care that History would remember him for this deed above all others? That for years to come people would only call him ‘ _Kingslayer’_ instead of his name – until his brother would reveal some of the truth of that fateful incident, several years after his death?

A sense of melancholy washed over her, and Sansa couldn’t help but find it ironic - in a darkly humorous sort of way - that she had just met the killer and all too soon she was going to meet the victim - as if all this was the strangest episode of CSI or game of Cluedo.

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

**END of PART II – Road to King’s Landing**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers, as you might have noticed at the very end, this was the final chapter of Part 2, next part is (as you might have guessed) PART III - King’s Landing, which will also have a prologue from someone other than Sansa or Stannis (someone who is in court at the presentation).
> 
> Unfortunately, I just wanted to say, with the next couple of weeks becoming super busy for me, Part III will take a little longer to finish and upload (- will hopefully be able to add new stuff in a month’s time)
> 
> =
> 
> For Sansa’s dress and cloak, I had something along these in mind:
> 
> \- Cloak, from the Valentino, Fall 2016 collection: <https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d6/1e/3f/d61e3f35e51f6023b8d99d1d8bb26687.jpg>
> 
> \- Dress, from Marchesa, Spring 2016 collection (though with a much longer, more ‘loose’ skirt bit and the sleeves also longer) : <http://assets.vogue.com/photos/55fc95ea4188461f38f7d37d/master/pass/marchesa-notte-spring-2016-021.jpg>
> 
> (Will be adding other dress ideas as story progresses ;) )
> 
> =
> 
> * - Inspired by the rather awkward scene between Tywin and Tommen, where Tommen gets ‘the talk’. Season 4 Episode 3: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZoiUMAGMBM>
> 
> ** - Inspired by the quote from Catelyn Stark in _A Clash of Kings_ : “Men would say that she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft… the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.”
> 
> *** - _Macbeth_ , Shakespeare - Act 1, Scene 5
> 
> **** - Jaime has been a Kingsguard for more or less 8 years now, since 281. – He has already become quite disillusioned by court and Aerys and is already ‘coping’ by "going away inside".


	30. PART III - Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Readers! Sorry for the slight delay for the chapter, been rather busy in last few weeks but finally found some time to properly finish it (yay!). I really hope you guys like this chapter/Prologue. Just want to say that Catelyn has never been my favourite character in ASOIAF and not the easiest to write – especially trying to revert her back to what she might have been like as a teenager. Tried to do a mix of young-Sansa and the Catelyn of the show, with possible slight changes of Lysa being older (quite a few years older) than her in story.  
> Enjoy! :)

 

 

 

**King's Landing**

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

The morning sun filled the space with rainbow light, making it all the more obvious that the seven-sided temple was larger than the one in Riverrun set amidst her mother’s gardens. Yet, as big as it was, it was nearly empty, only a few other mindful devotees present apart from Septa Sofia and herself. Not that Catelyn minded; she needed guidance from the Seven now more than ever.

She had already knelt before the statue of the Stranger, and lit a scented candle for Lysa and her lost babe. To then go to the Mother and light three more for Father, Edmure and the sister she was about to meet. Now she smoothed her skirt out anxiously, and knelt in front of the Crone, praying for direction and wisdom.

The last year had been the strangest of her young life. So much so that Catelyn could barely keep up with all that had happened.

 

Her face drew, her heart clenching. _It all started with Lysa’s death_.

Even now, she could see the slim boat drift down the river, before Lord Hoster Tully himself had nocked a flamed arrow to his bowstring, let it fly to meet her sister.

It made Catelyn think of the strange fog Lysa and her got lost in while riding back from Seagard. Everything was grey and neither could see a foot past the nose of their horses. They lost the road. The branches of the trees were like long skinny arms reaching out to grab them as they passed. When Catelyn shouted the fog seemed to swallow the sound.*

It was as if the mist returned, with both sisters lost, now even to each other.

Petyr had known where they were, back then near Seagard, and he rode back and found them. But he had not been at Riverrun for Lysa’s final voyage.* Petyr, who had always been a close friend to Catelyn. And even closer one to Lysa.

He had not been the only one absent though. Catelyn had reached for her brother’s hand when the boat lit... but Edmure had not been there. Uncle Brynden had taken her hand instead, twining his strong fingers through hers. Her uncle who she hadn’t seen since Lysa’s wedding, who had come from the Eyrie. Together they watched the little fire grow smaller as the burning boat receded in the distance, until it was gone.**

 

Her lord father had barely spoken that day. He had barely spoken since Ser Lomas Estermont’s arrival in truth, but her uncle comforted her. Lysa, Petyr and Catelyn had always gone to Ser Brynden with their tears and tales. In her sorrow of not only her sister’s death but her brother’s absence, he had reminded Catelyn of many leagues between Riverrun and Storm's End... Catelyn had wanted to point out that Ser Lomas had journeyed _from Storm's End_ , bringing back Lysa’s body, with neither her sister’s husband nor brother had been part of the travelling party, but her sorrow had been too great to form the words.

 

Her fists tightened on her dress, her brows coming together.

Why had Lord Baratheon not come? Why had he not let Edmure come? Lysa had died in childbed, trying to give him a son. The babe who had perished with her. Catelyn had cried the day the raven had arrived. The tears still in her eyes, she had gone to the sept and lit a candle for sister and babe, even though she knew such a fate came to many women.

Lady Minisa Tully had died the same, trying to give Lord Hoster a second son. Some of the life had gone out of Father that day with her.* Was that what it had been for Lord Baratheon?

Catelyn found that hard to believe.

The only image she still had of the Lord of Storm's End was of his wedding to Lysa, looking serious and sombre – _too serious_ and _sombre_ for a wedding. She could still see his thin pale lips in a frown, the clench of his jaw, and the noise of his teeth grinding.

When Petyr spoke of the Stormlord, he spoke of a cold, hard man. A lord in his own right, one given so much power - mayhaps, too much power - at such a young age. And a blood relation to the king. It was no wonder the man was so prideful. He expected his due and more; ‘ _his expectations sometimes goes beyond reason’_ , Petyr had said.

In the few letters Lysa had written since her wedding, she had never given much detail to her lord husband, but there had never been any mention of love, care, or even affection or warmth. In the couple of years away, Edmure had also mentioned little of his guardian, other than the lord being overly large, never-smiling, and ever-dutiful.

Guilt came over Catelyn then, even greater than her grief. She still felt the tears she had wept for her sister, yes, but she had also shed many tears, silently in her room, when Lord Hoster had told her Lord Baratheon needed a new bride.

Catelyn had always known her duty; known she would marry as her father commanded. She had always done her duty. Perhaps that was why her lord father had always cherished her best of all his children. She had always been there, by his side, even when the others had all left. So she had accepted it when Lord Hoster told her she must wed Lysa’s cold and hard Stormlord, instead of Brandon Stark; even if she had silently wondered, _why_ _me_?

She had never shown him her tears. She was the good girl, the ever obedient daughter, the Tully words echoing in her mind – ‘ _Family, Duty, Honour_ ’.

That is, until that last morning in Lord Hoster’s castle. For the briefest of moments, she had been weak. Never had Catelyn felt so wicked, sneaking away from Septa Sofia, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so wilful before***. It was Lysa who would run and hide, as a young girl, so their lord father could not find her. And yet, it had been Catelyn who had gone off, to the sept surrounded by her mother’s garden, and had lit candles to the Mother, to the Maiden, and to the Crone, calling on their compassion, their protection, and their wisdom.

She had thought of Ser Brandon Stark as well.

The northern heir and his visits to Riverrun. Although not excessive, they had been in great abundance and warmer than Lord Baratheon’s one for his wedding. During his last visit, Ser Brandon had danced with Catelyn _twice_ , even though she had been but twelve, and their betrothal had not yet been announced. Catelyn still remembered the dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick dark curls and drown in his deep silver-grey eyes. A flush crept up her neck.*^

Had it been very wrong for Catelyn to still think of the charming northern knight, so like the songs? - Septa Sofia had always instructed her it was a wife’s duty to care for her lord husband, as it would be for her to care for the children she gave him.

That was all Catelyn had truly done.

So many times, she had already thought of Brandon Stark. She had pictured her life at his side, bearing his sons – brave and honourable, handsome and valiant sons, just like their father: dark hair and silver-grey eyes. Mayhaps a daughter or two as well, with her lord father’s Tully blue eyes and her colouring. Their sons would have strong northern names – those of the past kings of the North – but Catelyn hoped Brandon would let her choose for any girls she gave him. She had even thought she might name her first daughter _Lysa_ , but had quickly corrected herself; - Brandon wouldn’t like having the name of his previous betrothed for their daughter.

It was true, he was twice her age, but still she wanted to be his lady wife, to have his sons and daughters. Sometimes she would whisper his name into her pillow just to hear the sound of it.  - “ _Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.”_ ^*

It was not easy to quickly forget her betrothed and suddenly think of another.

The Seven _had_ heard her prayers, though.

Nearly a moon’s turn in the capital, still ready to obey her father and her new betrothed, even though her heart still broken and confused, Catelyn still remembered a fortnight ago when they had received Uncle Bryden’s raven.

The news of Lord Baratheon’s wedding.

The news of another sister.

Sansa Tully. – _No_ , _Lady_ _Sansa_ _Baratheon_.

Seven-and-ten. Less than four years separated Catelyn from _Sansa_. Try as she did, Catelyn had only been a babe when her sister had been taken from Riverrun, sent to a motherhouse, and thus, she had no memory of her.

Even now, many days since the raven, Catelyn still felt foolish when ladies came to her and asked her questions of her older sister. Her mind always went to Lysa first, before recalling that she had another sister, that there was another _Lady Baratheon_ ; - one that was neither Catelyn, nor no longer Lysa.

The smoke was making her eyes burn. She rubbed at them with the heels of her hands. When she looked up at the Crone again, it was her mother she saw.

It had always troubled Father to speak of her mother. It troubled him to speak of Sansa now. There was always a strange glimmer in his eyes when her sister was mentioned. All those times Catelyn remembered finding Lord Hoster looking in the distance, she had always assumed he was thinking of Mother. Now she wondered if he had mayhaps also been thinking of the daughter lost to him.

Her mother had also been more ill than not in Catelyn’s youth. Was that not the reason why her sister had been sent to the motherhouse at such a young age?

More than once, Lord Hoster had told Catelyn she had her mother’s beauty, with her high cheekbones and jaw. His gaze would always flicker to her eyes then. _His eyes_. One of the very few times he had mentioned her mother since her death, Father had said it was a shame Catelyn did not have her eyes as well. _But none of my siblings had Mother’s eyes_ , she had thought.

 _Sansa_ had Mother’s eyes. From the little she, Alyssa, Bethany or Celia had heard, and the little Uncle Brynden had supplied from his brief stay in Storm's End for the wedding, her sister had the Tully hair, but was all their lady mother after that. _Mother, who_ _was always so calm, with soft hands and her warm smile_.

 

Would this new sister be as calm? Would she have their mother’s hands and smile? Would she greet Catelyn as family, as a sister?... Or would she blame Catelyn, hold this marriage against her?

Catelyn had always loved having a sister. Lya was always there to play with in her youth. They had even had their own language. But as time had passed and Lysa had grown, her sister had become more interested in matters her own age. Not that Catelyn had ever rebuked her for it. As she had grown up herself, she remembered fancying herself[ Jenny of Oldstones](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jenny_of_Oldstones). Truthfully, she clearly still fancied herself Jenny of Oldstone, with Brandon Stark her[ Prince of Dragonflies](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Duncan_Targaryen), for she wouldn’t have spurned the thought of Lord Baratheon so wickedly if she did not.

The guilt turned in the pit of her stomach. Not only for Catelyn’s less than honourable actions against her father, her House and Lord Baratheon, but also against this new sister, who had been taken from her vows and who had wed the rigid Stormlord in Catelyn’s place.

In the letter Uncle Brynden had brought from Edmure, her brother spoke of her sister being even more beautiful than Lysa or Mother, and had the most wonderful stories and songs. But Catelyn had been disheartened to also read that the newly Sansa Baratheon had not only not smiled much on her wedding, but her older sister had fought against the marriage, still insisting to take her vows. She had gone so far as to try and to go back to her motherhouse, before Lord Baratheon had saved her from certain death, finding her pale, collapsed, and half dying near the woods.^**

When Catelyn had mentioned as much to her uncle, fearing for her new sister, Ser Brynden Tully had reassured her that her sister was still somewhat troubled by her journey as well as only truly feared the change - the _unknown_. He had gone harsh then though, commanding Catelyn not to repeat her younger brother’s foolish words to anyone. He had also asked for the letter and had proceeded to burn it, even if it was in Edmure, Lysa and hers’ secret language. It was the only time Catelyn had been scared of Uncle Brynden.

Gratefully, Petyr had helped explain the matter further, though. He had warned Catelyn more calmly that Uncle Brynden was correct. He reminded Catelyn that Stannis Baratheon was not a man to take any slight lightly, real or imagined. With a temper much like his House words, it was one thing for your king and the prince to spurn him, it was quite another for his wife’s family to insult him and question his character.

Even for the matter of Sansa, Petyr had been so supportive. Though he had not yet arrived in Riverrun when Sansa had been sent away, and thus had never met her, Petyr was already set to considering her his friend as well. In addition, he had helpfully pointed out that Sansa would only know the life in a motherhouse, and it would be for Catelyn – her sister, _her family_ \- to guide her in this new role and in this new city. He had even given her advice for when greeting her long lost sister. Not only as family but as the current Lady of Riverrun, it was for Catelyn to greet and welcome her sister and goodbrother with every courtesy they were due.

 

There was shuffling from behind her.

Septa Sofia, who had also been kneeling in front of the Crone, was now standing to the side, with one of Catelyn’s handmaidens – Doreah - whispering something to her. Both sets of eyes turned to land on Catelyn.

Her heart skipped a beat. _It must be time_.

Quickly turning the Crone once more, Catelyn looked straight at the statue and made one last silent prayer, pleading for strength, wisdom, and guidance. Finished, she stood and joined the other two. Father and Uncle Brynden would be waiting for her.

 

As she stepped out of the royal sept, Catelyn was surprised to notice how high the sun had risen whilst she had been praying.

There was no fog. Not a cloud in the sky.

And yet, Catelyn felt as if the strange mist still surrounded her as she stepped forward.

 

 _Petyr won’t be there this time either_ , her mind raced on.

 

Although Petyr had assured her he would also be in the Throne Room, only now did Catelyn remember he would not be by her side when greeting Sansa. It was sometimes hard for Catelyn to keep in mind that, although now a lord in his own right since his father’s death, and even after Lord Arryn had gifted him further lands and a higher position with Uncle Brynden’s support, the fact that he had been a childhood friend and constant support to House Tully did not mean Petyr was high enough to be there for this first meeting with the Lord and Lady of the Stormlands. Even her ladies-in-waiting - her companions from her father’s bannermen - would be somewhere in the gallery, whilst she would be with Lord Hoster Tully and Ser Brynden Tully, pride of place in the hall, near the front.

Her Father, Uncle Brynden, Septon Osmynd, Maester Kym, Septa Sofia, Petyr, they always seemed to know everything.^***

It was time for Catelyn to be brave. She needed to be brave. Brave for Lysa. Brave for Petyr. Brave for Sansa and Edmure.

She would prove to her Father she was still the dutiful daughter, prove Septa Sofia her manners and courtesy still impeccable. She promised to the Gods, even as she moved further from the sept, to never fail in her duty. Not to fail her Family or act dishonourably again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^** - Just want to make it clear that the letter written from Edmure was from before Brynden rode out and Stannis, Sansa, Edmure and the rest had left Storm's End. So before the closeness of the road trip.
> 
> Passages of the books that greatly used (+inspiration) for this chapter:
> 
> *- “Last night I dreamed of that time Lysa and I got lost while riding back from Seagard. Do you remember? That strange fog came up and we fell behind the rest of the party. Everything was grey, and I could not see a foot past the nose of my horse. We lost the road. The branches of the trees were like long skinny arms reaching out to grab us as we passed. Lysa started to cry, and when I shouted the fog seemed to swallow the sound. But Petyr knew where we were, and he rode back and found us...” _But there’s no one to find me now, is there? This time I have to find our own way, and it is hard, so hard_.’ – Catelyn ACOK
> 
> ** - ‘Catelyn reached out blindly, groping for her brother’s hand, but Edmure had moved away, to stand alone on the highest point of the battlements. Her uncle Brynden took her hand instead, twining his strong fingers through hers. Together they watched the little fire grow smaller as the burning boat receded in the distance.’ – Catelyn, ASOS
> 
> *** - ‘She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so wilful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn’t loved Joffrey as much as she did.’ – Sansa, AGOT
> 
> *^ - ‘She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armour, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.’ – Sansa ASOS
> 
> ^* - ‘Sometimes she would whisper his name into her pillow just to hear the sound of it. “Willas, Willas, Willas”.’ – Sansa ASOS
> 
> ^*** - Osmynd, my father, Uncle Brynden, old Maester Kym, they always seemed to know everything, but now there is only me, and it seems I know nothing, not even my duty. – Catelyn ACOK


	31. PART III, Chapter 1 – Meet the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more: Another BIG thank you to Sarah_Black for reading over this chapter, making it better/correcting my mistakes!
> 
> Sorry it took so long to finish, was definitely a pain to write, but hopefully you will enjoy reading it! :)

 

 

The smell was what hit you first, upon nearing King's Landing.

The smell, and then the noise.

It was not helped by the fact that they had travelled from the south, and thus had passed near the port and fishmongers.

Though the city was not yet as big as it would be in another 1700 years, a part of Sansa was convinced its smells wanted to compensate for its smaller size. She imagined that this city reeked worse today than the King’s Landing of her time had on the hottest day of summer. _Yep_ – just like the city she had visited twice during her childhood, King's Landing was just as noisy and quite a bit smellier than it would be several centuries from now. Though the smell of cars, air vents, and fast food had been replaced by that of smoke, sweat, rotten fish, and... _excrement_. And the noises of traffic, alarms and sirens, retail stores and cafes, had been replaced by the sound of horses and other animals wandering the streets, shops, stalls, armouries and other whatnots.

Sansa was still unsure if it was a good or bad thing that she was blinded from the sight of the city as they travelled through it. As curious as she might be, she also did not think that she was ready to know just yet how dire the state of the city streets was.

As they trekked further into the heart of the city, the din of foot traffic and chatter was drowned out by cries of welcome. It was only natural that the people clamoured round, when such a large group of knights and guards, horses and carriages passed through the main streets of the city. At least, the many exclamations had seemed to be happy cries of welcome. Sansa could only assume that the common peasant had little care for _who_ actually was arriving - or leaving - in the city.

On the other hand, she wasn’t oblivious to the fact that there were some that clearly _knew_ , and did want to know more, as well as _see_ , who came and went. At long last stepping out of the wheelhouse, she was momentarily blinded by the sun’s rays hitting her face, to only then be further dazzled by the light reflected against the shiny armour of the many knights in the courtyard. It was as if the highly polished shields and plates were to ensure none stared at them for too long; the sight hurting Sansa’s eyes.

And yet, this did not stop her from noticing that - unlike the two members of the kingsguard at the inn - the keep’s guards didn’t seem to possess the right level of decorum to stop themselves from _staring_... mainly at _her_.

It’s not like they could fail to notice her, or confuse Sansa with another; – the Gods had given her a tall figure, bright, striking auburn hair, and unusual, mismatched eyes. Regardless of the warm day and the sun hanging high above their heads, a shiver ran through her. She could feel the gazes shift the length of her, before going to her eyes and hair once more, making her grateful that she had decided to wear her cloak for the journey.

She felt dizzy for a moment, _surrounded_ ; by all these strangers staring at her, by the scarlet castle rising up high, in front of her, by the never-ending towers and pillars, by the banners flapping above the battlements, black, with threeheaded dragon breathing fire, caging her in.

Letting out a shaky breath, Sansa, for herself, tried to remain _calm_ – or, at the very least, _look calm_ – and willed herself to ignore the many stares.

Instead she tried to focus on something positive; in this case, most of the smell and noise of the city had diminished now that they were on top of Aegon’s Hill. That and the small breeze coming from the bay were small comforts. Sansa closed her eyes and feeling the way the gentle wind managed to cool her skin somewhat. It had been incredibly stifling inside the wheelhouse.

 

“ _Lady Sansa_.”

Her head jerked to find Stannis approaching her, studying her.

Beneath his heavy brows his eyes seemed even more like bottomless blue pools. He had shaved this morning, or - Sansa was certain - his cheeks and strong chin would already have been covered with the first wisps of a blue-black beard by now. The revealed skin alas did little to conceal that his teeth were clenched. His neck and shoulders were clenched as well, and his right hand*. And yet, Sansa found his taut stance somewhat reassuring; she was not the only one who was wary and uncertain of their destination and their host.

Reaching her quickly enough, he seemed to hesitate briefly, before taking her hand in his. “We are to present ourselves to His Grace, the King", he reminded her, the words spoken with care.

He seemed to become even more cautious as he then tilted his head closer to her own and murmured quietly, close to her ear. “I trust... My lady, it may be best not to speak, unless His Grace addresses you directly. If that is the case, I would keep your responses short... He... he is not known to tolerate any disrespect or foolishness.” The words coming out more as a caution rather than a possible chastisement.

Her own voice not able to go above a whisper, she nodded in acceptance. “Of course, I understand.”

Before he could add anything else, the... _steward?_ came towards them to remind them of the king’s request to see them without delay, upon their arrival.

Stannis’ hand clenched tighter around hers, before he started to guide it to his forearm. However, before he could do so fully, Sansa quickly halted him.  

“Would you give me a moment, my lord... my cloak...” she murmured shyly, indicating the black cape that had covered her dress ever since she had left her room at the inn.

Understanding, he took a step back, as Mary came forward, clearly having expected this moment. The cloak was swiftly unclasped and removed from her shoulders, and Sansa soon felt the sea breeze flow more freely through and around the silks and gauze, as both Mary and the cover disappeared into the crowd.

As foolish as it was, she then found herself looking up to her husband, searching for some hint of approval in her dress. However, there was only a momentary blink, followed by a stiff nod. She thought she might have also seen his jaw twitch, but the next moment Stannis’ head was already turning to face forward, and her hand was placed in the crook of his arm.

Her heartbeat quickened and her mind became a whirlwind as she let herself be lead through the castle. She didn’t even try to pay attention to the route and memorise the different doors and corridors they passed.

And then they stopped.

They had arrived. In front of the group was a set of heavy double doors, twice as high as they were wide, with another four black-and-red guards standing on either side of the entrance.

In this brief pause - before the guards went to open the door - Sansa could have sworn the cries from the streets below echoed through the walls of the keep... or maybe it was those ahead, on the other side, _waiting_.

_Breathe_ , some part of her mind reminded her.

And yet, as the great doors opened, Sansa couldn’t help but think that the Seven Hells had been unlocked.

She had another moment of blindness, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the room, before the whole of the Great Hall was presented, right in front of her. There was so much, so many people, that her eyes could not decide what to focus on; in front of her was a blur of faces, rich colours, and long columns.

The tenuous grip she had on Stannis’ arm tightened. The touch of another person - the large, reassuring presence next to her own - felt like her only anchor, keeping her reined in. Thankfully, though, Stannis made no comment and only continued to look stiffly ahead.

 

A voice broke somewhere behind her; calling out their names, disturbing the hushed silence.

“ _Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and his wife, Lady Sansa Baratheon._..”

There was a tiny jerk from the tall frame next to her, pulling her forwards, and they started to move once more, as the voice continued.

“... _his heir, Lady Shireen Baratheon of Storm's End,... Edmure Tully of Riverrun, son and heir of Lord Hoster Tully,... Ser Eddard Stark of Winterfell, son of Lord Rickard Stark_...”

 

Sansa could feel her heart pounding. Her whole body was shaking. She had never been so nervous in her life and hoped above all else that it wasn’t noticeable to others (apart from Stannis, who was thankfully still holding her). She remembered feeling numb at her wedding, only a week ago, but now it was as if she could feel _everything_ ; as if someone had turned her body to a ‘ _hyper-sensitive_ ’ mode.

For the longest moment the only thing that could be heard – or that Sansa could hear - apart from her heart beating in her ears, was the muffled sounds of their heavy steps slowly, but - _hopefully_ – assuredly, moving across the length of the hall. If nothing else, two long rows of guards on either side separated them from the rest of court as they moved down, which she oddly found reassuring.

_Still_ , they did not protect her from the stares. Though she could barely distinguish any of the faces, Sansa was certain they could all see her quite clearly; she could feel all of them _staring_. All eyes, even those of the dragon skulls – _especially_ those of the dragon skulls - seemed to be looking at _her_ specifically. Unlike the indistinct mass of people, the skulls seemed to be the only things in focus. Sansa felt the hollows where their eyes should have been follow her every movement, even more so than the crowd and king – as if these creatures, though already long dead, _knew_ all her secrets, _knew_ that she did not belong here, in this place, in this time.

They finally reached the front, two large men wearing the white cloaks of the kingsguard standing ahead, on either side of the huge ugly throne and the man sitting upon it. Her eyes looking downward, Sansa gave the deepest curtsy she had ever given. Both Stannis and herself, as well as those that had followed behind them, solemnly murmured, “ _Your Grace._ ”

There was a long pause – her knees starting to hurt and shake more than they had already been doing – before a grating voice finally spoke.

“Rise.”

Doing as she was told, Sansa slowly straightened and looked up, allowing her mismatched eyes to meet violet ones – _restless_ ones.

The hundreds of people in court seemed to be holding their breath, either occupied in their study of the arrivals, or because they were wondering what the King would do or say next.

Her own mind reminded Sansa once more to _breathe_. She tried not to stare too hard at all that was ( _Mad_ ) King Aerys, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm…

He sat high above them, amongst the blades of the Iron Throne, in his black and red robes, the red gold crown heavy on his skull. She was not disappointed in her expectations. The long hair, the shadows under his eyes, and his overall thin figure, at least where it was not well-covered by the rich robes, made him look older and unwashed for a forty-something king. The long, yellow nails that looked more like claws than anything else, and the few marks on his hands and fingers made him look _feral_.

 

A rather large part of her was more than tempted to look down again, and break the contact with those eyes, but Sansa stopped herself. She needn’t have bothered though; Aerys’ stare left her face to travel down the whole of her body, scrutinising every inch of her as if she were a prized stallion he was thinking of buying. Soon after, he turned his attention to Stannis.

Unfortunately, although ‘ _released_ ’ from the king’s gaze, it was then that Sansa became properly aware of his surroundings - as if the lights around him had suddenly been turned on. To Aerys’ right – on a lower step - stood a man with reddish hair, his eyes also fixed on Stannis, not looking too pleased by her husband’s presence. Behind him stood two others, older, looking less grim and somewhat... _relieved_? On the other side of the throne was an old maester guy with a white beard. But Sansa’s gaze went beyond him, to another man hidden in the shadows; his bald head and large stomach the only two distinguishing features she could note from where she was. Unlike the others, his stare continued to linger on Sansa, silently studying her: a curiosity he had never seen before and that he had yet to decide what he thought of.

At long last, the king spoke again, his eyes still fixed on Stannis. “You’re late, nephew. I had expected you a week ago. Not only that, but I find you married; married without your king’s consent.”

Sansa could only blink.

Aerys didn’t really give Stannis a chance to respond - or maybe he knew Stannis would remain silent? – before he continued, his gaze flicking back to Sansa for a second.

“But, looking at her, who would begrudge you to want to wed and bed her as soon as possible? You must have been all the more _eager_ to get some heirs in her.  Say the vows and consummate the marriage as soon as possible, _aye_.” He cackled. “... And all in the name of _duty_ , my boy, isn’t that so?”

Sansa held back a sputter of indignation. Trying to ignore all the comments directed at _her_ , her mind focused on the ridiculous address, calling Stannis a _boy_. He was taller and larger than most in the room. In any case, judging from the parts of her husband she had already seen – and others that she had felt – there was nothing remotely _boyish_ about him.

But ‘ _His Grace_ ’ had not finished his _lovely_ welcome.

“Six years and the other one only whelped out a daughter. Part of me wonders if you got rid of the used one to have a newer, _tighter_ one; one who might push out something more useful. Let us hope this one won’t be as disappointing...”

Sansa’s mind bulked. Weren't the Tullys _here_ , somewhere in the crowd? Before she could thing more on her ‘ _family’_ though Aerys’ gaze was on her, staring at Sansa in such a way as if to warn her of what might happen if she didn’t provide the mentioned heirs. He let out a huff of irritation.

“... The Gods know Rhaella failed me often enough. So many times they tested me... though I had the opposite problem; more than a dozen years of waiting to only be given _another_ _son_...”

There was another huff, his voice calming slightly, as he seemed to consider something else.

“... At least Rhaella had the decency to leave me my long awaited daughter before dying. Grand Maester Pycelle informed me that your last one took the babe with her when she died.”

His gaze then went past Stannis and Sansa, to land on who she could assume was Edmure from the shadow he left in the corner of her eye.

“... Well at least the mother proves sons can be had.”

His attention having shifted, Sansa took the opportunity to shift her eyes to the corner, and take a peek at Stannis. She could already feel his arm stiff under her hand, but he was stiff all over. A statue that had been carved out of marble; tall, staring forward, jaw locked.

 

The grating in Aerys’ voice called her back to the front, the king looking exasperated with the whole thing.

“I have cause to speak with my nephew. Away with all this; - _steward_.”

Some members of the court started to move, including the old maester and the two older men to the left of the throne, but the red-haired man in front of her seemed ready to protest. And yet, clearly thinking better of it, his mouth clamped shut.

Not that Aerys gave him much thought. The king had already raised himself from the huge, ugly seat and was moving steadily towards one of the doors, the two white cloaks only two steps behind him, not waiting for any response, or even checking if Stannis was going to follow him.

As for Stannis, he momentarily turned to face her, before his gaze went behind her to Eddard. Moving swiftly to his friend, he whispered a few quick words, and then, with a final nod in her direction, he left the same way Crazy Aerys had.

Sansa’s eyes followed him until he was no longer visible. Her gaze turned back, ready to face Eddard herself, to possibly interrogate him. But before she found him, her eyes found others. Those of the bald man still retreated in the shadows, behind the throne. _Creepy Mr. Potato-Head_ , she decided as his gaze continued to linger on her. He gave her a slight bow, and then turned to proceed to another, smaller door, which Sansa would have thought was reserved for servants.

 

“ _Lady Baratheon_.”

Her head turned swiftly to meet her ancestor’s gray eyes.

A shaky long breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding during her staring contest with Creepy Mr. Potato-Head escaped her. A small smile of relief came to her lips as she remembered that she wasn’t alone; there were still some here she could rely on.

Trying to shake her worries out of the place further – as well as ignore all the stares still heavy on her back – Sansa was about to correct Eddard’s address and remind him to call her by her given name, when she noticed that he was indicating others – all three with auburn hair - coming towards them;  _or really_ , others that had already been welcomed by Edmure, and were now being led by her ‘brother’ towards Shireen, and herself. One of the three, Sansa had already met and recognised, the other two she could only assume where her ‘father’ and her ‘sister’.

The young teenage girl looked sweet and pretty, welcoming even, if not maybe for her turning a little timid when her gaze met Sansa’s. It was the older man who worried Sansa more, and who, in turn, appeared more wary of her.

 

For the third time since arriving in this blasted hall, her mind once more reminded her to breathe. She was about to have her own _lovely_ ‘family reunion’.

 

 

**=**

 

 

“ _Robert is in King's Landing._ ”

 

Stannis’ jaw tightened so abruptly and to such an extent that he was convinced that his teeth were finally going to shatter.

Fury, clearly not caring for the sudden jerk, shook his long mane and head, his nostrils snorting in irritation. An irritation that matched Stannis’. – What in the Seven Hells had possessed his brother to come to King's Landing _now_? _Or anytime really_?

Truly, the real question was: how much more Stannis – and his teeth - would be able to handle today? Stannis was sore, tired, hungry, and irritable, and never had his jaw hurt so much. Except, mayhaps, for _that_ day at Harrenhal.

He was on a horse once more, dreaming of a long hot soak, a roast fowl, and his featherbed faraway, back in Storm’s End. _What does the realm care for my wants_? A talk with Arryn was far more pressing. As soon as he been dismissed from the king’s presence – the king _tired_ -, Stannis had quickly been assured that his wife was in her father’s care, before eating a few bites and changing into his more comfortable riding jerkin.

They had ridden out, away from all the ears of the keep. The only slight reprieve of the day had been driving Fury hard across the rolling plains, the wind against his face with Eddard by his side, Jon Arryn not far behind. The exhilaration of it all had made him wonder how he had survived the slowness of the road, the drudgery of keeping pace with carriages and wheelhouses these last days.

Not that the exhilaration of the charge had lasted long. Arryn’s words – as well as the numerous guards following them in the distance – were reminder enough of the true reason for the ride.

_Still_ , the torments of the day had undeniably started long before Robert... or even any Dragon. _No_. They had started even before the sun had risen above the horizon. To have increased steadily when his wife - _at long last_ \- had come out of the inn. Any possible chastisement he had conjured in his mind had vanished at _that_ instant. It had even – _ridiculously_ \- taken him a few moments to recall what exactly Ser Barristan had been saying. It really should not have surprised Stannis so much to how stunning Lady Sansa had been, or how everything else had dulled in comparison around her, even fully covered, with only her hair and face showing. He should be used to it. Nor should he have needed to remind himself that it was... _normal_ for his wife’s appearance to have garnered so much _attention_ and _interest_ from the many – _too many_ – men in the yard.

On the other hand, Stannis was still unsure what to make of the look _his_ wife had given the Lannister Kingsguard. He knew that the knight garnered a certain appeal amongst women – high or low born. In truth, Stannis had always been surprised that the young lion did not indulge himself with his many admirers (unlike Robert), but then, perhaps he did. Perhaps he was just very discreet. He was a member of the Kingsguard after all. Oddly Lady Sansa’s stare had been more shocked than appreciative when she had first seen Ser Jaime. Something akin to _dread_ even. Her gaze had changed quickly, however. Possibly there had also been a look of appreciation for his physical appearance, but very soon it had changed to one full of... _sorrow_?

All the same, the mournful look had vanished just as quickly. When they had arrived at the Red Keep and she had come out of the wheelhouse, her troubled gaze had been one of _distress_ , not sadness. So much so that all Stannis had wished to do in that moment was take her in his arms and remind her that he had put his cloak around her, promising to the Gods and to men alike that he would protect her. The words had come out more as counsel rather than reassurance, but she had taken them in all the same and had settled down some.

_Naturally_ , with her agitation calmed, it had been the most appropriate moment for Stannis to endure a disturbance of his own. With his wife as the source. Stannis jaw twitched at the memory.

When Lady Sansa had removed her cloak, it had taken nearly all of his self control to look away from her and her stunning form clad in _his_ colours. In truth, a perverse part of Stannis was still absurdly pleased with how well she wore the Baratheon colours, as if they had been designed for her specifically. Instead of possibly looking pasty or even sickly in black, the silks had presented her more mature – _womanly -_ and _fierce_ ; hinting at some of the intensity and strength she had revealed those first days in Storm's End. The gold threads weaving across her bust and arms had seemed a part of her, merging with her skin and hair, compelling him to want to _touch_...—

His hand jerked, pulled by the reins and being tugged forward.

His eyes blinking away the vision of his wife’s long graceful neck and shoulders, Stannis felt his lips thinning. _Gods_ , it had come to his _mount_ bringing him out of insanity. – Had he not learned his lesson enough with Lysa of what beauty could truly be; a bane to any man, one so _treacherous_?* Had he not seen enough from Robert of what _desire_ and _want_ did to people?**

Mercifully it seemed that both Jon and Eddard thought his intense stare was in relation to Robert being in the capital. As if to reassure him, Arryn expanded, “He hasn’t caused much damage; only to his purse strings, in truth. Thankfully, he has mainly been staying in a brothel owned by one of my bannermen from the Fingers, who has kept me informed of his ventures.”

Stannis jaw twitched further. The more he heard of Robert and _his ventures_ , the more he thought any discussion of the matter pointless until they returned from their ride. To which Stannis would take Eddard, Ser Rolland and Ser Arstan, and remove his brother personally from whichever whore would be currently occupying his attention, before Robert did too much damage to the _Baratheon_ purse and sank their House into debt (and further shame). _Aye_ , it would not do to waste more time than necessary on his brother.

 

“Tell me more of Connington. Has he approached you since your arrival?”

The only interaction Stannis had had so far with the lord – one of _his bannermen_ – was the Griff glaring at him throughout the royal presentation. Then again, it _was_ only Stannis’ first day in King's Landing.

His conversation with Aerys had confirmed that, at least in the coming days, Stannis would see Connington regularly. While the king had not spoken directly of the Handship, or even of the open position of Master of Law (Arryn’s report to his own meeting with the king confirming a similar evasiveness), Stannis had been informed that he was to take a seat on the Small Council; ‘ _as Steffon should have continued doing, if others had not hindered his return from Valyria_.”

Stannis was not required to like the man. Nor did he require Connington to like him in return. But if Stannis was to serve on the council, or even be named Hand, he did care to know how much of a nuisance the man would prove to be, and how often they might come at odds.

Judging by the few times Stannis had previously met him, he was not optimistic on their chances. From all appearances, Connington was a competent enough lord. However, his pride and boldness tended towards reckless, in a thirst for glory and attention. There was also the fact that more often than not, during Stannis’ earlier years as _Lord Paramount of the Stormlands_ , either the four years that separated them or mayhaps the fact that he had squired with the prince, had made Connington forget that _Stannis_ was _his_ liege.

 

“He has. He took Denys and me hawking yesterday; presented my nephew with a peregrine and a gyrfalcon** for myself. Of course, whilst the birds flew overhead, he did mention that Prince Quentyn Martell is but a few years ahead of Denys’ son.”

Eddard shifted on his mount to look at Jon more directly, brows raised. “How did Denys respond?”

“Said neither he nor his wife had ever been to Dorne, and a visit held a certain appeal. However, Denys did also mention that a possible wardship has already been brought up between Storm's End and the Vale.”

Stannis blinked. This was the first time _he_ had heard of such an arrangement. The look on Eddard’s face – _gratefully_ \- confirmed that it was also new to him. Arryn must have noticed either or both their faces, as he huffed.

“It was only a tactic to keep the discussion open Stannis. But you can’t tell me the idea doesn’t hold merit: was there not a certain amity between the three of you in the Vale? More so than Elbert, if I remember correctly.”

Stannis jaw twitched. He respected Ser[ Denys Arryn](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Denys_Arryn). The man was rather astute, and a skilled fighter. They got on well enough, true, but that did not mean they were _friends_. Jon’s nephew-in-law did have the unfortunate tendency of always _smiling_ , and being unnaturally obliging and considerate with _everyone_. On the other hand, Ser Elbert had the ill-fated inclination of reminding him of Robert; younger, more brash, quick-tempered, and reckless. Stannis did secretly think it a shame that Ser Elbert was Jon’s current heir and not Ser Denys. Not that he could reveal all this to Jon.

“I will give the idea some thought. Any more on Connington?” _That is: the matter I truly wish to discuss_.

He was certain Jon let out a small huff before assenting. “I have been to only three meetings so far, but Jon Connington seems capable enough. As amiable as Lord[ Owen Merryweather](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Owen_Merryweather) was, in the three years since becoming Hand, Connington has thrown less lavish parties and actually done more in terms of actual improvements for the realm and city. Then again, I am unsure if most of these were of his own initiative or suggestions from Prince Rhaegar; for one, I am certain that bringing Ser[ Myles Mooton](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Myles_Mooton) and Ser[ Richard Lonmouth](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Richard_Lonmouth) on as additional advisors was Rhaegar’s idea.”

“Do you think any of them are linked to Saunton‘s death?”

“There has been no hint as such. If any had ill designs on the king’s men of the council, I think Wisdom[ Rossart](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rossart) or Chelsted would have been killed, not Sauton. Even if it was to give a more official position on the council to either[ Mooton](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Myles_Mooton), or[ Lonmouth](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Richard_Lonmouth), they knew Connington would have to receive Aerys’ approval.”

“It is a wonder that Aerys named Connington his Hand in the first place.”

“We can thank the late queen for that.” Arryn replied sombrely.

Stannis couldn’t help but agree. The queen’s pregnancy and the princess’ birth had definitely appeased the king in recent years. In fact for a time, many had believed Princess Daenerys’ birth – and even the details of her birth earning her the moniker ‘ _Daenerys Stormborn_ ’ – were a symbol of further ‘ _Targaryen Glory_ ’ to come, and had fully restored His Grace back to his _‘old self_ ’. Aerys himself had arranged an impressive and dignified burning ceremony for his sister-wife. Even his quarrels with his heir had been believed to have become things of the past. Upon his returns from Dragonstone, Eddard had occasionally mentioned Prince Rhaegar’s regular visits to his younger siblings, and that even his three children had been allowed a certain amount of time with their aunt and even with their uncle.

Even with this detente, though, Stannis still found it difficult to take in that Aerys’ _temper_ and _mistrust_ had calmed to the extent of him willingly appointing one of Rhaegar’s men as his Hand. He could only think that the eunuch had somehow been behind the decision, as the others would have only put forth themselves in a way to gain more power and favour from the king.

 

As if knowing the direction of his thoughts, Eddard queried. “What of your meeting with Aerys?”

An image of His Grace came to mind. No longer sitting amongst the ribbons of twisted steel and the jagged ends of swords and knives that had been tangled up and melted, but a more recent one, in one of his many lavish rooms in Maegors Holfast.

Within his private chambers, the king had moved more swiftly than in the Throne Room; unmistakably more at ease than sitting on the damned chair, with many eyes on him. Stannis did acknowledge that some of the talk to ‘ _Aerys returning to his old self’_ held _some_ value: His Grace did appear somewhat less sickly than how he had been at  Harrenhal.

Yet the scabs on his hands were ever-present. As had been the crown. Huge and heavy, ill fitted to Aerys’ head, it had remained during their conversation, with the gemstone eyes of the dragons on each of its points staring at Stannis. He had always found it strange, even in his youth, that Aerys had chosen the crown of Aegon IV. Whilst a promising king at the start, his excesses of pleasures of food, drink and flesh had left this previous ruler old, corrupt and morbidly obese, with one of his final acts leading to _five_[ rebellions](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Blackfyre_Pretenders)*^, having earned him the epithet _Aegon the Unworthy_.

Regrettably, the king’s irritative mood had continued; restlessness and suspiciousness had also been ever-present during the talk. Stannis could still recall the taster drinking a long sip of both the wine and the water, as well as the long pause that had followed, Aerys’ steely gaze on the lad, as if waiting for him to die then and there in front of them. When nothing had happened after several long breaths, he had given a disgruntled wave of the hand, and the taster had left Stannis alone with His Grace.

Nor had the private meeting conveyed any possible care Aerys may have had for his heir or even his sister-queen in recent years. Aerys rasping voice rang out. “ _He is plotting; – they are all plotting behind my back! Rhaella doted on him constantly. Too much. Women and their weak hearts. My grandfather – your great grandfather - he knew our union was a bad one. But what could anyone say; my mother had failed to give me another sister to choose from. At least Aegon had two to choose from..._ _And now, it’s all those fools that dote on him. He’s always good at the playing the gallant fool, with a lance, a book, or that harp of his._ _It’s no true wonder how he ended up. By the Seven, that ginger four-legged chicken would be ready to kiss that worthless son of mine’s shit if he told him to.”_

“He is convinced Prince Rhaegar is scheming something on Dragonstone, as well as several other lords. Aerys didn’t mention either Mooton, or Lonmouth, but he is convinced of Connington’s allegiance to his son.”

“Will he question this ride?” The concern in Arryn’s voice palpable.

Stannis shook his head. “Knowing I would speak with both of you, I thought best to mention the ride myself, and not have his Spider inform him afterwards. I told him, as I was to join the Small Council, a ride through the city and surroundings land – taking their current state – was necessary. If anything, His Grace congratulated me on my initiative and my eagerness to do my duty. ”

_“You know your duty to you king. Your father was the same. If only he was still here instead of all those... Still, even that witless boy can’t ignore a royal summons.”_

 

Of course, Stannis already knew Rhaegar was still on the eerie Targaryen Island, with his own family. He wondered how long it would take for the prince to reach King's Landing. Part of Stannis had thought the Dragon Prince would have arrived before him; boats more often than not were _faster_ than horses and carriages.

Or possibly he waited for Connington to inform him of Stannis’ arrival to set sail?

Stannis shifted on his destrier, not liking the notion. “Has there been any news as to Prince Rhaegar’s arrival?”

“Both the eunuch and Connington have been rather silent about the prince’s arrival.” Arryn frowned, his own displeasure about the lack of news clear.

Eddard stated somberly, “It would be foolish for him to drag out his father’s summons and wait much longer to arrive. _Winter is Coming_.” His gaze turned, looking towards the east instead of the north.

 

 

**=**

 

 

The pleasant sea breeze traced the outlines her face softly. The light translucent drapes behind her fluttered, caressing the backs of her feet and calves every so often.

Sansa let out a long sigh; her mind undecided if it was one of relief about how the day had gone (and about it finally being over), or one of apprehension of the many days still to come in this city. She wondered once more how long they would have to stay here, as _royal guests_.

She had to give it to Aerys, though.

The view from her balcony was breathtaking; hanging high above the edge of the royal gardens, and Blackwater Bay further out in the distance. You could just about see the outlines of the few ships out on the water. Up above, there were already so many stars out. There wouldn't have been this many stars visible, this early in the 20th Century. Sansa gave a soft snort. _Who am I kidding; there would never be this many visible. Period_.

 

The several apartments in the Maidenvault prepared for the Baratheon household (thankfully not on the same floor as the Tully household) were incredible. Her personal chambers had the most stunning furnishings, obviously made and selected with care. Several vases filled with flowers were spread around the room, leaving a pleasant smell. A platter of fruits and nuts had been left on the largest table, along with a carafe filled with a red liquid – _wine_ most likely. As for the bed: it was a king-size ( _no pun intended_ ) four poster bed frame, with several rows of pillows visible through the translucent drapes falling from its sides.

In addition to all this, when she had first arrived, her trunks had already been unpacked, with the exception of the one containing her 20th Century stuff; clearly someone of the Storm's End party having instructed them as such (or maybe they had looked through it, but had been careful in make it look undisturbed).

It was somewhat overwhelming though. Especially when Sansa had been about to strip for her bath, to be caught off guard by two young women popping more or less out of nowhere, asking if she needed assistance washing. _Doreah_ and _Deana_. Although they actually looked nothing alike, they gave the same low curtsies and welcoming smiles, and were succinct in all their movements, which had led to Sansa name them ‘ _Tweedle dee_ ’ and ‘ _Tweedle dum_ ’ (that and their names being a bit too similar). Apparently they were to be her additional handmaidens, _courtesy of His Grace_. They also informed her that she had a team of seamstresses and their apprentices at her disposal.

The rather horrible introduction withstanding, King Crazy really knew how to take care of those he favoured. _And he most definitely favours his ‘nephew’_.

Darcy gave a soft whine of agreement, his head on her lap, his eyes closed. Despite the odd looks from ‘ _Tweedle dee_ ’ and ‘ _Tweedle dum_ ’ for Sansa wanting to wash and brush her puppy herself and to not keep him in the kennels, even he had been treated like royalty, with a large bone still full of meat to chew on.

 

Even so, there was one person Sansa was even more appreciative of than Crazy Aerys and all those who had followed his orders: Ser Brynden Tully. For all the berating he had given her on her marriage and its ‘lack of progress’, he had been invaluable in making the ‘ _meeting the family’_ thing a success. Or at least, less awkward.

For one, whilst Eddard had – _understandably_ – also disappeared to another part of the castle after giving the Tullys his regards (though leaving four sentries in Baratheon colours to guard Shireen and herself), Sansa’s _uncle_ had suggested that Edmure, Shireen and Sansa most likely cared to be brought to their chambers, hinting to their morning (and the several days before that) of travelling.

Bathed, brushed, and changed into a pale rose-smoke dress with gold detailing, Sansa had joined the Tully household for lunch. The presence of _Cat_ – as her ‘sister’ insisted Sansa call her –, Shireen, and Edmure had the allowed the meal to be more easy going. Sansa had not missed Brynden nudging Edmure to sit next to his father, leading to her ‘ _brother_ ’ talking at lengths of all his many progresses in Storm's End. Already the courteous lady, her ‘ _sister_ ’ had been warm and friendly to both Shireen and Sansa, speaking of the many wonders that awaited them within the Red Keep and King's Landing. In turn, Cat only made a few simple inquiries of Storm's End and their journey, undoubtedly not wanting to scare Sansa off by asking too many questions (or at least, not just yet).

It was only after the meal completed and a long walk through the royal gardens (and a few choice words with her uncle) that Sansa had found herself in one of its many flowery alcoves with her ‘ _lord father’_. A singer, brought from Riverrun, had been the only other presence, just outside the alcove. Sansa had quickly understood Ser Brynden’s insistence for music as a way for possible ‘ _ears’_ to not be privy to their conversation.

To which she realised even more how helpful Bryden had been: he had already _broken the ice_ on Sansa being his descent from several centuries into the future.

Still, it hadn’t removed all the unease of the meeting.

Sansa was unsure if it was a good or bad thing that Lord Hoster Tully didn’t look too much like her real father; or at, least, the Blackfish looked a lot more like the _20th Century Brynden Tully_. It was definitely uncomfortable to call a man she had previously never met ‘ _father’_ (at least it was not ‘ _dad_ ’) while they were continually observed by others throughout the day.

On the other hand, it seemed that, even to Hoster Tully, Sansa did have an uncanny resemblance to his late-wife. Sansa was more than relieved when he pointed out that Minisa Tully’s hair had been a light brown and, whilst her eyes had also been mismatched, her miscolour had been black, instead of the Stark silver of Sansa’s. Sansa really did not care for her ‘father’ being reminded of his dead wife when with her.

When they had spoken of Sansa’s life, his eyes had misted slightly – in joy and grief - especially when she had showed him a photo of her real father. There had been pride and joy to the knowledge that his lineage had continued for numerous centuries. Yet, anger and disappointment had been clear on the man’s face when Sansa had not only revealed her father’s death, but the fact that, with her father and her both being only children, the Tully line had more than likely ended with Sansa going into the past and marrying Stannis.

 

Another heavy sigh escaped her. _Stannis_.

Her thoughts – for the hundredth time - reverted back to him. She wondered how his day had gone. Ever since following Aerys out of the Throne Room, Sansa hadn’t had a peep from him all day; nor from any of his ‘ _buddies_ ’. Instead she had had the Baratheon guards following Shireen and herself, wherever they went (two stood even now in front of her chamber doors).

She suddenly felt a sharp wistfulness for the week on the road. Things had been simpler then: no meeting the creepy uncle of the family, no meeting of ancestors or calling them ‘ _father’_ , no continually being observed by _everyone, everywhere_. She just wanted to hang out with those she had gotten used to seeing on a daily basis. But now Stannis  & Co were _somewhere_ in this big labyrinth of a city. Edmure was now with his family (though she couldn’t really begrudge him that). Even Shireen and Edric were both clearly as overwhelmed by their first time in the capital as Sansa (it didn’t help that the Tullys didn’t look favourably on the five year old boy).

 

The soft murmur of the drapes broke her thoughts.

A soft voice called from behind her. “Will you be needing anything else my lady?”

_Mary_. She had already dismissed _Tweedle dee_ and _Tweedle dum_ for the evening, their constant presence making her dizzy, but Mary was still here, by her side. Sansa smiled softy at the thought.

It was late, though, and nothing new was going to happen tonight. Nor was it really _Mary_ that Sansa wanted by her side.

Smile still in place, Sansa turned to face her first comforting presence since arriving in the Dragon Age. “No Mary, thank you. You are free for the evening. I will retire to bed; it’s been a long day.”

Darcy gave a small yelp of agreement, already rising on all fours waiting for Sansa to stand up.

 

Back inside the room, her gaze landed on the bed, letting out a gloomy huff. Sansa wasn’t going to lie; she was also definitely going to miss sharing a bed with Stannis, no matter how much more soft and comfy this one was supposed to be. His presence by her side had become reassuring. _Comforting even_ , Sansa thought as she remembered the feel of his arms wrapped around her.

A slight shiver ran though her, the cool sea breeze hitting her feet.

Wrapping her arms around her, she moved to the bed. _Might as well get in_ ; somehow she doubted she would wake up with her husband sleeping next to her.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - “ _Beneath his heavy brow were eyes like bottomless blue pools. His hollow cheeks and strong jaw were covered with a short-cropped blue-black beard that did little to conceal the gauntness of his face, and his teeth were clenched. His neck and shoulders were clenched as well, and his right hand._ ” – Jon, ASoS
> 
> ** - "Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister. She murdered him, do not doubt it. Your father and Jon Arryn as well." He scowled.’ - Jon, ASoS - talk with Stannis
> 
> "When I see what desire does to people - what it's done to this country - I'm very glad to have no part in it." - Varys, Season 4, Episode 6 - Talk with Oberyn
> 
> ***- For anyone interested: gyrfalcon are the largest of the falcon species, pelegrines are somewhat smaller. In Medieval Hawking, there rules of ownership of different birs: the King would get gyrfalcons, Princes – peregrine falcons, dukes – rock falcons… [more info if interested:[ http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-life/medieval-hawking.htm](http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-life/medieval-hawking.htm)]
> 
> *^ - Stannis is referring to the[ Blackfyre Rebellions](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Blackfyre_Pretenders)


	32. PART III, Chapter 2 – The Life of a Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another BIG HUGE Thank you to Sarah for helping me with this chapter: correcting mistakes/suggesting bits!
> 
> I confess, I was going to publish a little later this week, but then found out it was Stephen Dillane's Birthday today! So thought the Mannis would definitely appreciate a lovely gift ;P (more so than those Robert leaves for him in his bedroom ;) ) Happy 60th Namesday to Lord Stannis! :)

 

 

However many people had already commented on how unusual it was for King's Landing – ‘ _especially this close to summer’_ – it did not change the fact that it _was_ raining.

 _It’s not even heavy rain_ , Sansa thought with a silent huff.

 

“Is the cloth to your liking, Sansa?  I thought a row of stags would be fitting for the swaddle, but mayhaps I should have added a few trout?”

Muting the sound of the rain falling steadily in the inner courtyard, Sansa kept her smile pleasant as she looked from the aforementioned fabric to Cat’s anxious gaze, clearly waiting for either Sansa’s thanks or criticism.

“It is perfect Cat, thank you. It is a most wonderful gift that Lord Baratheon and I...” her throat tightening as she went on, “... and our future child will treasure.”

Her _‘sister’_ beamed at the praise. If it were possible, Septa Sofia was even more pleased by her charge’s work and Sansa’s words. As for Sansa, she took the time to admire the teenager’s gift a while longer – adding one or two comments to the girl’s genuine talent – before she carefully folded the fabric and placed it on the table, where a few other gifts already sat. All the while, Sansa silently wondered how much Mary would be put out if she decided to go get her trench coat, put it under her heavier Dragon Age cloak, and then go to visit the Godswood. Sneakily looking over, it didn’t seem that her handmaiden would mind the light drizzle _too_ much, especially by the way she was smiling prettily at Arstan Selmy, Sansa’s guard for the day. Mary might be just as glad for the rain and reprieve from the ladies of court.

 

“It’s a shame the weather is so dreary. I had hoped we would visit the Grand Sept today.”

Sansa bit back the small groan.

The comment came from Lady Jocelyn Arryn, as Sansa assumed it would. In the same way that she also knew the comment was mainly directed at _her_. Sansa quickly reminded herself that Jocelyn was only reacting to how Sansa portrayed herself: the very pious, young motherhouse raised bride of a high lord. _Really_ – she _had_ been to either the castle’s sept or Baelor’s at least _five_ times a day. And her wardrobe did hint at a higher level of modesty and piousness; all long sleeved, in pale colours with the gold of her husband’s house.

Truthfully, Sansa was fond of Jocelyn. She liked the women of court, and enjoyed spending time with them. Most of the nobles here were from the Crownlands and the Reach, a few from across the Narrow-Sea, and both Lord Arryn’s party and her _father_ ’s had come with several ladies. They all brought with them different anecdotes and experiences of the Dragon Age. And all had welcomed Sansa from the get-go. If anything they were more eager for Sansa – the _Lady of Storm's End_ , daughter of the _Lord of Riverrun_ – to approve of _them_.

Although made uncomfortable by the ‘power’ of her position, Sansa hadn’t realised, until King's Landing, how _long_ it had been and how _much_ she had missed spending time with other women in the same age and social standing to her (however pompous that may sound). Fashion, flowers and cute animals, music, gossiping, storytelling... _talking about boys_... none of these had ever really been Arya’s ‘thing’ growing up. For which there had been Blonde Jeyne, Brunette Jeyne, Shae and Myranda; the other ‘ _stuck-up girly-girls_ ’ as Arya tended to describe them. So really, it shouldn’t have come too much of a surprise how well Sansa was getting on with the women here; even if the latest fashion trend wasn’t the same as the 20th century, the ladies possessed songbirds or falcons as pets, rather than small dogs, and most played the high harp instead of the piano or violin.

As for the few times Sansa did lack Dragon Age knowledge or experience, her ‘motherhouse past’ continued to be a great explanation. On the second day, there had been disbelief on all faces when it was revealed Sansa didn’t know how to ride (though, they had all ‘ _awww_ ’-ed – especially Cat and her teenage friends - and had given her husband various praises of chivalry when Sansa had let it slip that she had travelled a large part of the journey on Lord Baratheon’s lap). Just as she shocked them – especially those from the Vale – when she had revealed she had never been hawking. To which, Jocelyn insisted she would take Sansa as soon as possible, while Lady Belmore had later chastised _Stannis_ (a man twice her height and build), during the dinner with the Arryns, for not having gifted his wife a bird yet, even though he had been her brother-in-law’s ward.

 

It was all _draining_ though. How Sansa mostly remained silent, whilst listening to others speak. How she always took extra care in what she did and said. How she constantly worried she would do something horribly wrong. How she was already trying to keep track of which anecdotes from her childhood she could alter and make them sound like memories from her ‘motherhouse’. How she visited the sept and godswood as breaks from all the worry.

Not only all that, but with every moment, every comment, Sansa was constantly reminded how different her 20th Century upbringing had been to that of Dragon Age women. How much she felt apart.

There was naturally also _the_ _subject_ that remained at the forefront of all their minds, which had Sansa... _flustered_. _Marriage and children_. Hence the _lovely swaddle_ Cat had just given her, as well as the hundred other gifts and remarks Sansa already received in the past three days, all in line with the herd of mini-stags she was to give her lord husband.

Even in this, the disparity was strange. As recently as six months ago, Sansa would have been just as excited to chat to these women about how ‘ _gorgeous’_ and ‘ _amazing’_  her boyfriend was. Even if she hadn’t thought it would happen for a few more years, she _had_ pictured herself married to Joffrey; the two of them having children, living in a big house overlooking Lannisport, growing old together... _Yet_ , even pre-Joffrey, Sansa was still a world apart from these ladies. As naive and sheltered as Sansa might have been and might _still_ be, she knew that women had married young – even _really_ young – during most of History (and in some parts, still did). But it was one thing to learn about it (or be reminded by Brynden), and quite another to experience it with her own eyes.

Women - _girls really_ – younger than herself were already married and had their first, if not second child. Lady Leyla[ Oakheart](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Arys_Oakheart), fifteen, just yesterday had asked Sansa if she would be pleased if the lady’s first child was named ‘ _Sansa_ ’, if a girl. Sansa hadn’t been able to do more than stammer how ‘ _flattered_ ’ she was.

Lady Falena[ Buckwell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Buckwell), only just turned twenty, was as proud as ever when stating to the group she was to give her lord husband his fourth child – and hopefully a second son –; one for each year of their marriage. She had been very proud to talk of her ‘large fertile hips’ - which made birthing ‘ _easy_ ’ -, as well as mention the fact that her husband still came to _her_ bed, even when with child.

On the other hand, Sansa had also heard of Lady[ Stokeworth](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tanda_Stokeworth), who prepared extravagant meals for any single lord, in the hopes to make a match for her second daughter. Even her first daughter didn’t seem fare much better: though married,[ Falyse Stokeworth](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Falyse_Stokeworth)’s husband apparently shunned her bed, preferring virgins.

As for Jocelyn – Lord Arryn’s niece –, she had taken an even greater shining to Sansa than the rest, asking her several questions about her motherhouse and would join Sansa each time she went to the sept or Baelor’s (when Sansa really just wanted to be left alone). The twenty-four year old had already told Sansa how pleased she had been when she had given her husband a son: Robin Arryn, apparently named after a past Arryn King. Yet, since ‘ _Sweet Robin_ ’, Jocelyn hadn’t given Ser[ Denys ](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Denys_Arryn)any more children. Of course, to add to this, Mary had found out that only two sisters remained of her eight siblings (with only _one_ son to _eight_ girls); one a septa and the other a silent sister. The only other sister to have actually married and given her husband a child had died in process.* Mary had suggested that Jocelyn possibly thought befriending Sansa – _a devout lady, of the highest of births_ – would not only help in having another son, but also help in looking out for her remaining siblings.

It was safe to say, the weight was heavy on Jocelyn’s shoulders. Her aunt by marriage, Lady Belmore, despaired for not only her own son, who apparently preferred ‘ _gallivanting round Westeros, and playing with sticks in tourneys’_ rather than marrying, even though that was his duty as Lord Arryn’s heir, but the ‘Falcon Matriarch’ tended to moan several times a day that there were only _three_ heirs before the Arryn line passed down to Jocelyn’s nephew, a _Hardyng_ ( _the horror!_ )*. Jocelyn took it all that much harder due to the fact that she felt as if she was ‘ _failing_ ’ her husband – the ‘ _Darling of the Vale’_ -, who Sansa could tell she loved greatly. Sansa did acknowledge that, during yesterday’s evening, Ser Denys had been every part the chivalrous knight: handsome and brimming with courtesy (whereas her own husband had mainly grumbled).

As for Cat and her Riverland friends, being young teenage girls, they of course talked about boys _a lot_. Strangely though, her ‘ _sister_ ’ didn’t talk much about Eddard’s older brother, which had Sansa wondering if the betrothal was ‘ _still on’_. On the other hand, Cat had confessed that Alyssa, Bethany, Celia (a.k.a. ‘ _A-B-C’_ ) and her did sometimes play ‘kissing games’. Something Lysa had apparently also done in her youth; even with one or two boys living at Riverrun. (To which, Sansa might have silently exclaimed a few chosen words, thinking of her husband and his accusations about her ‘experience’).

 

Of course what made it all the more exasperating was, even when she wasn’t surrounded by the ladies of court, Sansa still couldn’t seem to get away. Whilst she did have a little more privacy in the Great Sept than in the Red Keep, the moment she stopped ‘ _praying’_ , the High Septon would more or less ‘pounce’ on her, wondering if she cared to read a few passages from[ _the Seven-Pointed Star_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/The_Seven-Pointed_Star). Obviously, both Jocelyn and Cat also insisted in joining her,  leading them to pray to each of the Seven Gods, with her sister finding it necessary to ‘ _light a candle to the Mother, for Lord Baratheon and you to be soon blessed with news of a child’_.

Her walks with her father weren’t much better. Hoster Tully would mostly talk of either his dead wife or Sansa’s real father; both uncomfortable topics. As for Sansa’s conversations with the Blackfish, whilst possibly more interesting, him actually taking the time to inform her about certain Dragon Age things, and the latest gossip, their talks always seem to revert back to her having loads of sex and babies with her lord husband.

Though, at this time moment in time, the lack of ‘ _affirming their union’_ – as Brynden actually put it - was not _Sansa’s_ fault.

In fact, the only person she wouldn’t mind spending more time with (other than possibly Shireen and Edric) seemed to be the only person (apart from the king, _but no complaints there_ ) that didn’t seem to care to spend time with her; _Stannis_.

The amount of time she had actually spent with Stannis since their arrival had been sparse and _lacking_. Always in the company of others, usually during dinners with her ‘family’ or his mentor, their exchanges were always short and awkward.  If anything, Brynden saw a lot more of _her_ husband than Sansa, as he would often arrive to or leave from such meals for a meeting with her ‘ _uncle’_ , _‘father’_ , Lord Arryn, Eddard & Co... As for the rest of his time, Stannis divided it between sword fighting, speaking with his men, and most frequently, with the king or the Small Council, as a ‘guest’ council member (as Brynden had explained it).

And yet, he did not come to visit her, either in her chambers, or when with _his daughter_.

Even at night - especially at night - Sansa would be aware of his absence from her side. Her strange dreams seemed to have become more distinct... and _sinister_. On her first night she had dreamed of nothing but mazes – spiders and ghosts haunting its halls.* She felt like the keep was filled with ghosts – those of the past and of the future – only they truly knew what was to come. It was like a creepy version of Hogwarts, one which no one in their right mind would bring their child to. Sansa, being a _muggle_ , could not see the ghosts. Her dreams the following nights were even worse. One was of a large man, his hair short and his beard trimmed, a large band of big square-cut rubies still on his head, _dead_ ; his body slumped amongst a throng of sharp, dark blades, his dark robes glistening crimson red, and his wrists slashed with large gashes. The next had been of green flames swirling, surrounding a man as he roared and howled. Last night’s had been of a young girl and a black cat running, a fat man giving chase, a sword in hand... Sansa had woken with a jolt, sweating and panting, before the man had caught the little girl.

A cold shiver ran through her remembering the look of terror on the dark haired girl’s face.

Shaking the haunting image from her mind, Sansa realised that she had not responded to Jocelyn’s comment. Thankfully, Cat answered. “Yes, it is a shame; I had hoped to go as well. Nevertheless, I must confess I am rather relieved by the rain; I had missed it so. As wondrous as King's Landing is, it will never be as green as the Riverlands. If I close my eyes, I am just able to convince myself we are back in Riverrun...”

As others added to the conversation, Sansa looked once to the inner courtyard, a sliver of grey sky visible, and the rain still more drizzle than anything else. Wanting more than ever a moment to her, Sansa placed her embroidery down and slowly stood up. “I think I go for a walk through the Godswood.”

As soon as the words were uttered, Sansa wondered if she should just have said ‘ _gardens’_. The Godswood always garnered a few curious looks from her ‘sister’ and several other ladies when she went to venture there, but accepted the wooded area as a place of solitude, for peace and reflection. Truthfully, it was Sansa’s one true escape. There was something about the godswood; here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, the heart tree itself a great oak in[ smokeberry](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Smokeberry) vines, with red[ dragon's breath](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dragon%27s_breath) growing at its roots instead of a weirwood, it brought her closer to the family she had lost.***

 

Lady Leyla looked at her with wide eyes, as she pointed out, “but it is _raining,_ my lady,” as if Sansa hadn’t noticed it herself, or six other ladies hadn’t already remarked on the weather.

Sansa laughed lightly. “I will have the cover of the trees. Besides, a little rain won’t make me melt; I am not the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Leyla blinked. She wasn’t the only one to look confused: Cat’s friend Bethany piped up, a frown marring her young face. “The _Wicked Witch of the West_? Do you mean Lady Lannister?

 _Crap._ Sansa stomach sunk at her brainless remark. “No, no, no. The Wicked Witch of the West is from a story, nothing to do with Lady Cersei Lannister. She is the _Light_ of the West...”

Jocelyn huffed quietly to her side, “Pretty sure ‘ _the Light of the West’_ would have a ‘ _melt-worthy_ ’ fit if a drop of rain _dared_ ruin her golden locks.” The words so low Sansa was pretty sure only a selecting few, older women heard, earning a few silent giggles and smiles.

It was obvious that, at least, Cat and her friends had not heard, as all their heads rose (not too different from meerkats all popping out of their den at the same time in Sansa’s opinion) with Celia this time asking. “A _story_? You have another story for us? Oh, how wonderful!”

Several of the younger ladies seemed to agree, their eyes gleaming with excitement as they looked at Sansa. Her throat was suddenly very dry.

“Hum, yes... another story. Perhaps another time. After my visit to the Godswood.”

Sansa shifted, her gaze searching of her handmaidens. Whilst Doareah was absent (Sansa very briefly tried to remember if she _had_ already dismissed her), thankfully Mary and Daena were already collecting her cloths as well as the several gifts she had already received this morning, as Ser Arstan had moved closer, ready to follow.

The proper farewells and curtsies given, they were finally out of the solar.

 

After a few steps down the length of the covered corridor, Sansa’s gaze turned to Mary. “Does Lady Jocelyn not like Lady Cersei Lannister?”

“I believe they both attended a tourney a few years ago, my lady. During the-”

Whatever was the end to the sentence Sansa never found out. Both handmaidens’ focus had been caught by something ahead of them.

Looking forward, she noticed a man coming towards them. He was short, slender, his hair was dark – though not as dark as Stannis’ – and he wore a pointed goatee. The long deep purple robes were nice, but it was the silver broach at the top that caught Sansa’s eye; a _mockingbird_. He had the effortless manner of a lord in his dress and walk, but he still made Sansa think of a wannabe Doctor Strange nerd who hadn’t gotten his costume quite right for Comicon.

“Lady Baratheon.”

His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Alas, much like costume not being quite right, he did not seem to possess Benedict Cumberbatch’s overall charisma... or his swoon-worthy posh accent. _Shame_.

 _Lord ‘Wannabe-Strange’, I dub thee_.

Her smile was more genuine, encouraged by her latest nickname, more than actually because of the man himself. “I have not had the honour, my lord.”

Arstan took a step forward. “My lady, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, from a _little_ vassal in the Vale.”

His grey-green eyes definitely did not smile with his mouth this time round. “I was fortunate to be a ward in your father’s castle in my youth, where I became a friend to your siblings. In fact I was about to call on Lady Catelyn.”

 _Of course_ , Cat had mentioned on a few occasions ‘ _Petyr’_. Though, through these quick anecdotes, Sansa had pictured him, more… _well_ , _younger_...

Whilst still wondering what a grown man had really in common with a teenage girl, Sansa smile remained. “You are in luck Lord Baelish, my sister is with the other ladies and her septa in the solar.”

“Did you not care for embroidery or the gossip of the keep?”

“I’ve had my fill, thank you. I was about to take a walk through the gardens, The grand septa at my motherhouse always encouraged us into quiet moments of reflection; to be one with nature and all that the Gods were so generous to gift us with.” _Laying it on a bit thick, Sansa_...

His brows rose slightly. “The rain will not bother you, Lady Baratheon?”

_Seriously?_

Sansa kept her smile pleasant. “I assure you, Lord Baelish; getting a little wet won’t hurt me. I _am_ a Tully after all; a _fish_. In any case, being Lady of Storm's End one would hope that I was able to weather worse storms than this light drizzle.”

Lord _Wannabe-Strange_ opened his mouth – obviously about to reply - when the sound of steps against the hard stone broke the overall tranquillity of the semi-open space.

It was the royal steward moving at a rather fast pace towards them. For a foolish second Sansa thought it was Stannis who had called on her, finally finding a break and wanting to spend time with her. The next moment, she realised a _royal_ servant – wearing black and _red_ \- would not have been sent by Stannis.

As soon as the man reached them, he gave Sansa the low bow she had become used to receiving, as he greeted her before he then addressed Ser Arstan. There was a small glimmer in his eyes, clearly recognising Lord _Wannabe_. The bend of his back and head however were not as low as they had been for Sansa, or even Arstan.**

Ignoring the weird three-way stare between the men, Sansa smiled courteously back. “His Grace wished to convey a message?”

“Her Grace, Princess Daenerys, wished to invite Lady Shireen and yourself to join her for luncheon, my lady.”

At the statement, Sansa was more than relieved that she had left the ladies when she did, and that they were not privy to the invitation. The only other time she had met the princess had been from a similar request; one Sansa was certain had come from _Aerys_ rather than his _five_ year old daughter, and thus was more a royal command than anything else. _One doesn’t refuse a royal invitation; one definitely doesn’t refuse a crazy king’s royal invitation_.

Still, for the first invitation, yesterday, she had been surrounded by others. The excitement had been _palpable_. Apparently, _no one_ ever visited the young princess, or even Aerys’ second son. Not many even ventured within the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Later, Cat had gone into a long winded speech, on the great honour Sansa and Shireen had been bestowed. She was certain not even Lysa had met the princess during her visit to King's Landing.

Cat had even spoken with confidence that one of Sansa’s sons would most likely become a royal page, just as Stannis’ father had been, becoming the then-Prince Aerys’ closest friend. Smile frozen, Sansa had secretly chanted a multitude of _no_ s. She did not like the idea one bit. If she _did_ have _many sons_ , they were going to grow up by Stannis and her side, _not_ near King Crazy.

Unlike her father though, Sansa did in fact look forward to spending more time with the princess. She was also pleased for Shireen to have another young girl to spend some time with and who cared as much for stories of dragons and past Targaryen conquests as she did. Sansa also secretly found it to be hugely thrilling to spend time with the legendary future Queen. It was strange to think this shy little princess would one day be _Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm_ … who had continued ruling even after her husband’s (two) deaths, and becoming the first queen to rule in her own right.

Her smile all the more real, Sansa readily replied. “Of course. Lady Shireen had such a wonderful time with the princess yesterday. I’m certain she will be as delighted as I am by the invitation.”

The seward gave a curt nod as the two men watched on. “The meal will be served in an hour.”

She turned to Mary. Thankfully, her handmaiden had clearly been following the whole exchange, as she swiftly moved forward. “Lady Shireen is in her chambers, my lady,” she said as she gave Sansa a meaningful look; _i.e. -_ _Shireen is with Edric_.

“Wonderful. Please inform Her Grace that we accept her gracious invitation. I will quickly see to my niece and change into something more appropriate for a royal audience.”

 

The godswood would have to wait.

 

**.**

 

 _Ten courses_ _._ Ten courses going from nuts and dried fruits, to roasted pheasant and boar, to a cheeses platter, to a huge arrangement of sugary treats, which included no less than _thirty_ lemon tarts (which had Sansa suspecting that someone had already informed the royal kitchen of her preference for lemon tarts).

At the appointed time, Ser Barristan – _Gandalf_ – had come to Sansa’s chambers for both Shireen and herself. Shireen in a blue dress (to go with her dark blue eyes) with black embroidery and black ribbons woven in her red hair, and Sansa in a pale grey (to go with her mismatched eye) with gold myrish lace.

And now Sansa wasn’t sure if she could actually _move_ in her dress anymore. Instead, slightly slumped (possibly in an unladylike way) she was content to watch on as the girls played with small animal figurines, most being _dragons_.

They continued onwards even when Sansa suddenly felt a new presence in the room. She turned her gaze from the two girls...

 _Creepy Mr. Potato-Head,_ a.k.a. Varys, was at the other end of the large room, moving silently forward.

She stood.

Brynden did not like him, of that Sansa was certain. Like most, the Blackfish called him ‘ _Lord Varys’_ , though he had explained to Sansa that ‘ _the title was but a courtesy due him as a council member; the man was lord of nothing but his spiderwebs, the master of none but his whisperers_ ’.^*

Ser Barristan, on the other hand, didn’t seem perturbed by the man’s presence, here now. It was as if he had been expected.

“Lady Baratheon.” He swooped into a small flourished bow upon reaching her.

Sansa gave a moment’s pause, before giving a receiving bow. Both this man and herself (as most of the keep) knew she was already apart from the others. Why else would she have been invited  to visit the princess that no one saw? With this in mind, she thought it best to be honest, rather than let _Potato-Man_ catch her in a lie.

“My apologies, but I am not certain how to address you in return... Lord Varys or simply Varys?”

His smile seemed more genuine, then. “Varys is sufficient enough, my lady. I am but a servant to the realm, nothing more.”

Sansa eyebrows creased slightly. “Are we not all servants of the realm?”

“Yes, we are my good lady. Some more so than others, though. In fact your husband is already charging through, with several thoughts and proposals for the realm in His Grace’s council.” He smiled softly. “Mayhaps a little too readily for our Lord Hand.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to respond. “Lord Baratheon has always been fervent when it comes to doing his duty.”

“Yes, he is known for it. I am more than confident your husband is able to live up to the task, as several Baratheons have done before him, counselling the king through the years. In fact, Ser Barristan would be able to tell you that although the period of governance was short, Lord Baratheon’s grandsire, Ormund Baratheon, proved himself worthy during King[ Jaehaerys II’s](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jaehaerys_II_Targaryen) reign in helping restore order to the kingdom, ending the[ Blackfyre](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Blackfyre) threat and reconciling many of the Great Houses. I believe His Grace had hoped for similar greatness from Lord Steffon, if it had not been for his tragic expedition.”

From the way he spoke, Sansa felt like she was missing something. Something _important._

 

Yet, before she could ask or even figure out what exactly she _should_ ask, Creepy Potato-Man looked over at the princess and Shireen.

“Oh, how wondrous, they are playing with dragons... one red, one black.”

 

**.**

 

Dinner was not as eventful as lunch; _dull_ really, in comparison. Sansa and Shireen had once more joined the Tully household. Stannis was absent. At least Cat’s friends seemed pleased to have been included. On the other hand, Sansa had not failed to notice the few looks Cat snuck her way when she thought no one was looking.

The concern and… _sympathy_? on her face was definitely not well hidden when, as soon as the meal ended, Cat came to Sansa and asked if she could join her in her private solar. Hoping to appease her troubles, Sansa readily accepted.

Even once she was sitting in Sansa’s outer chambers, Cat continued to shift restlessly.

“Sansa... These last days since meeting you... your presence has been more warming and comforting than I dared hope. Your kindness has been unfailing. I have come to care for you greatly; happiness runs through me to have finally met my lost sister, more than you could possibly know.”

The right words seemed to be eluding her. Sansa took her hands in her own.

“And I feel the same way about you, Cat.”

Her eyes broke from Sansa’s, looking downcast. “I fear your feelings might change when I tell you what I must now reveal.”

Sansa squeezed her hands reassuringly, “It will be alright Cat. No matter what you tell me, my opinion of you will not change, you have my word.”

Her Tully blue eyes searched Sansa’s before she looked down once more, her voice soft. “Petyr... Petyr came to visit me today...”

Sansa frowned for a moment before remembering. _Petyr_. Lord _Wannabe-Strange_.

Cat continued. “... He came to tell me, told me... Lord Baratheon... L-lord Baratheon was seen with his brother, Ser Robert... a-and a few of his men entering a... a _brothel_... even Ser Eddard was amongst them...”

Sansa froze, her mind blanked.

Cat’s voice more desperate now; explaining further. “Petyr was concerned. He hasn’t properly met you, so was uncertain how to approach the matter. He did not want you to be cross with him. He came to me, only thinking of our friendship. He hoped I would know what to do... since you and I have become close as of late...”

Her eyes met Sansa once more. Sansa stayed frozen.

Perhaps misunderstanding her unmoving position, Catelyn continued, her voice all the more rushed. “Oh Sansa... please do not hate me. Nor Petyr... _I_ decided it was best to tell you, and that I should tell you, to soften the blow.”

 

It took a while to calm Cat down after that. Sansa took pains to reassure her that she neither hated ‘ _Petyr’_ nor Cat, and it must have taken great courage on her sister’s part to have told her. 

Yet, long after Cat finally departed, her sister’s news left Sansa feeling numb and confused. That, and the fact that Stannis had yet to come and properly spend time with her since they had arrived in King's Landing.

 _A brothel_.

She hadn’t really thought it possible. Stannis character didn't exactly scream ‘Prostitutes!’ Especially if she accounted for the few things Eddard had said, particularly with regards to Edric. But maybe that’s where Stannis went, whilst waiting for her to give him the ‘ _green light_ ’. Perhaps he believed hookers were for the _‘fun stuff_ ’ and wives were just for ‘ _doing one’s duty_ ’. Hurt ran through her at the thought.

It was possible that Eddard had meant Stannis would be more discreet and make sure he didn’t get bastards from his mistresses or the prostitutes he visited. He _was_ Stannis’ best friend after all, it would make sense that he would stand up for him.

And, ultimately, Stannis was a guy. A red-blooded male, whose last wife had died a while ago and whose new bride ‘ _refused to do her duty_ ’.

 

A doleful smile formed on her lips, imagining the many things an enraged Arya would have done if Sansa would have come to her to for help and advice after learning such news. Maybe it was for the best Arya wasn’t here with her. She doubted King Crazy would be super happy by Arya skewering his _‘wonderful nephew_ ’.

Still, she did want to talk to _someone_ about this.

She definitely wasn’t going to talk about it with Brynden. He, like most Dragon Age males, probably found it ‘normal’ that a lord visited a brothel, as long as he did not ‘ _bring shame to his House’_ in the process. He also would most likely try to calm Sansa with whatever platitude he imagined would get _her_ into bed with Stannis.

Nor could she talk about it with the other ladies. As nice and welcoming as they were, she knew she couldn’t talk about something this private with them. Sansa didn’t doubt that her husband going to a brothel instead of her bed was ‘ _juicy gossip_ ’ that not many would want to miss out on hearing.

Her mind reeling, her eyes travelled the length of her bedroom - the bedroom that her _husband_ had yet to _visit_ – when they landed on the quiet presence putting her skirts and silks away.

 _Mary_.

Mary, who most likely knew that Sansa still hadn’t actually slept with Stannis... Mary, her only true co-conspirator in this crazy world. Never had Sansa been more thankful that the young woman had helped her in Storm's End, and had followed Sansa to the capital.

 _That_ , and the knowledge that she had already dismissed the other two handmaidens.

 

“Mary...”

As soon as her name left Sansa’s lips, the other woman looked to Sansa, ready to do her bidding. “My lady?”

“ _Sansa_ when it’s just us,” she couldn’t help but correct.

A small smile on her lips, Mary replied, “Lady Sansa.”

The corner of her own mouth twitched slightly, as she thought how she would have gone about it with Arya. Though not as impulsive or wild as her cousin, Mary did have that no nonsense attitude that Sansa appreciated. She moved slowly to her bed, offering a welcoming hand to Mary to follow her onto the large mattress ( _it’s not like anyone else is likely to join me_ ). “Would you join me, please?”

There was a brief look of surprise and confusion on the other woman’s face, before - possibly remembering all the other ways Sansa hadn’t acted like any other highborn lady - Mary crossed the room. Upon reaching the bed, Mary gave another slight look of apprehension. Sansa patted the soft cushions.

Once Mary finally sat, Sansa urged her further into the bed, before she let the soft drapes fall, fully encircling them.

Sansa fiddled with the seam and pompoms of one of the cushions, not sure how she should start... or what exactly to say--

There was a sudden reprieve; Darcy, jealous of being excluded from a possible slumber party, gave a yelp of disapproval before he jumped on the bed as well, and made himself comfortable on Sansa’s lap.

Letting her hands run through his soft fur, Sansa plucked up the courage to finally speak. “Mary… I... The men and women within Storm’s End, do they... do they have _flirtations_?”

A sense of alarm appeared on Mary’s face. “My lady, if you fear certain improprieties have been taken place, I assure you that-”

“Nothing like that Mary.” Sansa quickly reassured her. “Truthfully, I feel rather foolish. In the motherhouse, all the girls were training to become septas or silent sisters. There were few interactions with men, except for the septon and maester. I… I am still trying to understand interactions between men and women, outside a motherhouse.”

Mary’s eyebrows rose, her lips forming an ‘O’. Remaining silent, Sansa decided to push forward.

“My sister spoke of _kissing games_... She even mentioned Lysa having given pecks to _boys_. I assume this is not only for young ladies... but all girls?”

Mary blinked several times, before a definite blush appeared on her cheeks. “Yes, my lady.”

With it, Sansa remembered Mary’s gaze going to Ser Arstan this morning as well as several times before that. But this wasn’t the time to scare her off by asking about her own personal preferences.

“I assume they sometimes... go further than _kissing_?”

The blush deepened, as Mary shifted uneasily. “It is possible, yes.” Looking up at Sansa, she asked softly, “m-may I speak plainly my lady?”

Sansa near-begged. “ _Please._ ”

“A woman has to take care; to keep her positions, to make a worthy match and wed. Men prefer to find their brides... _untouched_. A loose woman, with no virtue, does not hold such appeal... Before your arrival, I helped in the Great Hall. It was already a great honour to be working within the keep. Then, the Gods smiled on me the day you arrived and I became your ladyship’s handmaiden. With such a boon, I knew I would never treat it lightly. I promised to prove worthy of the trust and faith you put in me. I promised to never bring dishonour to my new position or to you, my lady. In all truthfulness, with such a position, I can hope for a match with a hedge knight... or mayhaps even hope for the third son of one of the lesser houses...”

Yet, instead of her face showing joy at such possibilities, Mary’s gaze held a certain gloom. With the look, Sansa recalled that a certain handsome knight was _heir_ to one of the _principal_ houses of the Stromlands; most definitely out of reach for her handmaiden.

Evidently Sansa was not the only one with relationship troubles.

Wanting to distract her companion from her furlong thoughts, as well as get back to her own troubles, Sansa impulsively blurted, “So the men who don’t wish to marry straight away, they go to a brothel?”

Both of Mary’s eyebrows rose high, her previous dismay erased. “I... I suppose so.”

There was a small pause, Sansa still unsure if she should continue. But this _was_ the whole point of their talk. Looking down at Darcy, scratching him lightly behind the ears, she willed her voice to sound as nonchalant as possible. “And lord Stannis... does he visit brothels often?”

Now, obviously Stannis was lord of Storm's End, so Mary’s lord. But Sansa couldn’t help but hope that their growing closeness, Mary having already helped her out several times and her wish to do well by Sansa would overcome such matters. Anyway, even if Mary confirmed as much, it wasn’t like Sansa could really do anything about it (or at least not until Stannis deigned to honour her with his presence).

However, when she finally looked up to face the other woman, when the silence became too unbearable, Sansa was taken aback by Mary’s face. Her wide eyes stared at Sansa as if she had just stated she wanted to run the whole length of King's Landing stark naked.

“L-lord _Baratheon_?”

Throat tight, eyes meeting Mary’s, Sansa forced herself to nod, voice low. “Y-yes... Lord Stannis.”

There was a strange look of concern mixed with relief on the other woman’s face then.

“Oh, my lady, I thought you knew: his lordship would never find himself in a brothel. No patience for such places,” her nose scrunched in agreement. “He made sure there were none in Storm's Town. The men have to ride a good half-a-day before they can reach the first whorehouse.”

Sansa could only blink. This seemed to encourage Mary, as she moved closer; her voice lowering.

“I’ve heard Ser Cortnay tell Ser Justin Massey off - more than once - for spending his coin far too frequently in such places. But t’is a fact that Ser Cortnay himself makes the most of it when Lord Baratheon is away. He’s prone to taking a few ‘ _long rides through the surrounding lands_ ’ during such times. His purse is always great deal lighter when he returns.”

Sansa looked down at Darcy, her fingers curled within the fur. “So... Lord Baratheon doesn’t visit brothels?”

“ _Never_.” There was so much certainty in the one word. An unknown weight seemed to have been lifted from within Sansa.

Probably encouraged by the small relief that appeared on Sansa’s face, Mary continued, “In fact, the way Beth tells it, for when his lordship became a man at his coming of age; even if he’d been lord for years already and not pleased by the idea, his great-uncle Ser Harbert insisted a celebration was needed. His uncles and brothers were there. Even the old lord came all the way from his mountains with Ser Eddard... Well, with his elder brother becoming a man, Ser Robert got his lordship a ‘ _gift fitting for such an occasion_ ’, or that’s what he argued, according to Beth.”

Sansa frowned slight – not sure if she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Y-yes...”

“Well, his lordship went into a furious rage when he found the gift: _whores - several of 'em -_ in his lord’s chamber. Beth swears that when they were sent out, Ser Robert followed; especially since he had already paid them and didn’t want his payment to go to waste... It was later found out that the coins had been from the keep, so truly Lord Baratheon paid for them. Which might be the reason that Lord Baratheon sent the brothel-keeper out of Storm's End. Beth says his lordship got it in his head that there should be _none_ in all his lands. Don’t know how, but the old lord and Ser Eddard convinced his lordship not to close all the brothels in the Stormlands. They probably pointed out that he wouldn’t have enough men to fight for him if he had _no_ brothels.”

 

There was a long pause after the story while Sansa took everything Mary had told her in.

Her hands still stroking Darcy’s fur, she looked up to properly convey her gratitude. “Thank you Mary, you have given me a lot to think on. _D_ -do you know where Lord Baratheon will be tomorrow morning, before the council meeting?”

There was the ghost of a smile of Mary’s lips before she quickly answered, “I could always find out...”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- Yes – Jocelyn’s nephew/ the ‘Hardygn child’ is Harrold Hardygn ;P
> 
> ** - ‘Father said the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her dreams it had been immense, an endless stone maze with that seemed to shift and change behind her.’ – Arya Stark, AGOT // “The Red Keep has ways known only to ghosts and spiders.” – Varys, AGOT
> 
> *** - “ _There was something wild about a godswood; even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes_.” – thoughts of Sansa Stark, ACOK
> 
> *^ - Arstan Selmy, being heir to an much older/more important House, he has a higher standing than Baelish, earning him more respect from the royal steward.
> 
> ^* - “On that we agree, Lord Varys,” she said. The title was but a courtesy due him as a council member; Varys was lord of nothing but the spiderweb, the master of none but his whisperers.” – Catelyn, AGOT


	33. PART III, Chapter 3 - Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual: Another BIG Thank You to Sarah_Black for looking through this chapter!

 

Stannis raised his shield and caught Ser Richard along the side of his head, knocking him senseless. The next moment, behind him, he heard Ser Arstan’s cry. “ _I yield_!”

Still in motion, Stannis turned swiftly; in time to follow as the stormlander thrust the point of his sword into the ground, not looking too pleased by his surrender, or his companion’s downfall. Truthfully, on a typical day, Stannis would have been displeased with the both of them as well; to think Arstan had had the fortune to have been trained, in his youth, by _Barristan the Bold_. One would think his great nuncle would be ashamed if he had seen him now.

Looking over at Stannis, his frown faded. “You seem to have the Warrior on your side today, my lord.”

Stannis grunted – his breathing slowing – not bothering to give a response. Sword lowered, he moved to the edge of the training area where Devan stood ready with a large cup filled with lemon water.

Stannis took a long swallow. And another. He lowered the drink. He kept the cup in hand, though, anticipating he would soon need another gulp.

 _Aye_. From the corner of his eye he found the blur of red; the true focus of his mind. His jaw clenched. Why was she _here_?

From the moment Lady Sansa had come to the training yard, Stannis had felt her presence. As he had _yesterday_.

He swore she was doing it _on purpose_. Such a recurrence was no coincidence.

Naturally, ever since their arrival in King's Landing, his wife was continually guarded; his men protecting her. He would always receive reports, at the change of sentry to where she had gone, and what she had done. When she travelled outside the keep’s walls, he even had additional men merge into the scenery, watching her furtively (usually Ser Davos).

However, in the last days it seemed _she_ cared to know _his_ movements. Yesterday morning, when Stannis had just left what had been a long and strenuous small council meeting focusing on issues with the Iron Bank when he had caught sight of Lady Sansa. She had been with her maids and guards, at the other end of the outer yard; when she should have been either in the sept or the Grand Sept of Baelor based on her routine of the previous days. Even after his luncheon on the Crownland hills, she had been _there_ in the Maidenvault, and then again in the Middle Bailey. After his ride with Eddard, he had gone to prepare himself for a meeting with His Grace, when he had first encountered her on his way to his chambers (instead of being several floors below with the ladies, sowing and gossiping). Bathed and changed (his bath taking longer than normal, especially since he had been forced to send his squire away during his wash), he had then encountered her heading to the Serpentine Steps and Maegor’s Holdfast (when he had been certain - from Ser Richard‘s report - that she had been praying in the royal sept with Lady Arryn and Lady Catelyn). All whilst Aerys had complained about his heir’s lack of arrival, Stannis’ mind kept reverting back to red hair and mismatched blue-silver eyes.

And now, on this present morning, she had appeared as his men and he had started to spar.

She had never come to watch the men train before. Or at least not when _he_ had been training. His jaw twitched at the unwelcome possibility that she had watched others. It would have been back in Storm's End at least. _Still_ , there were all manner of acts in the yard... men changed when their blood heated from training.

He took another furtive glance to where she continued to sit, smiling about something Lady Arryn had said, her embroidery forgotten on her lap. Stannis was mildly surprised of the presence of another lady. It was known that certain ladies of court found the training yard too noisy and dirty (Lysa came to mind) and the sight of such overt masculinity was too much for their more delicate sensibilities.

A large part of Stannis was relieved that none of the men had removed their jerkins this morn. Some on occasion showed their skin doing during training, especially on a hot day and practicing with blunt swords. Stannis had always thought it a ridiculous way to train. _What knight would go into battle without armour to protect himself with_? It would not be pleasant if his wife grew faint from such a sight either.

The thought unfortunately reminded him of her heated gaze the last – _and only_ – time Lady Sansa had truly seen... and _studied_ his chest. Stannis suddenly started feeling hotter from the exertion of his training, and found himself unwisely tempted to take off his own jerkin and shirt.

He shook his head.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as another grunt escaped him. Stannis wondered if Lady Sansa had watched his every move, followed his movements, and noticed how thoroughly he had defeated his opponents. As thoughtless as he knew it had been, Stannis had put in additional effort during his sparring, even calling for both Richard and Arstan to fight him at the same time, wanting to test his prowess with a blade. Thankfully, the results proved more than satisfactory, rather than proving reckless. In any case, it was best to be prepared: in battle it was seldom one against one...

 _Still_ , he could not help but wonder if his skill met Lady Sansa’s approval.

Raising the cup to his mouth once more, he took a longer gulp, hoping the drink would ease some of the heat from the training.

Mayhaps fighting against Ser[ Yohn Royce](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Yohn_Royce) would be a more even fight, since he had never fought him and thus didn’t know his tells... Ser Yohn _and Ser_[ _Vardis Egen_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Vardis_Egen) _._

 

=

 

Eyes wide, her breath held, she followed as Stannis moved towards two knights – most likely from the Vale - Sansa did not recognise, clearly intending to have another go.

She had felt weak and fluttery, watching him fight Ser Richard and Ser Arstan, _at the same time_. Now, though it was still overcast above them, with the bay breeze cool, Sansa definitely felt _overheated_. Maybe it was the excess material of the dress, but somehow she didn’t think so.

The swords swinging... the yelling and grunting… the clanging of metal… The lines of muscles, bunching and shifting… It had been quite a show.

_Definitely Lord Big and Muscly._

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, Sansa did not regret her decision to go to the training yard this morning, when Mary had found out through a certain stormlander that Stannis and his men were planning on an early training session.

Glancing over at her maid, Mary did not seem displeased by Sansa’s early stroll. Though possibly slightly dejected by her knight’s loss, she appeared more than impressed by Arstan’s _dexterity_ _with a sword_ , and more than willing to take care of any possible wounds the young knight might have.

As for Jocelyn, any possible dejection that had been on her face when Sansa had explained she was going to watch the men’s training before visiting the sept was forgotten. Eyes wider than usual, her gaze seemed fixed on her own husband, currently fighting one of Stannis’ knights.

 _Still_ , as impressed by her own fine _Lord Big-and-Muscly_ as she was, Sansa felt her jaw twitch with disappointment. Yes, she was seeing more of Stannis, but she had yet to graduate from amateur spying to actually _talking_ to her husband. For the last 36 hours, she had literally been stalking him, for only the briefest of interactions. Truthfully, she had stubbornly (and possibly cowardly) hoped that if they crossed paths enough times, Stannis would end up striking a conversation with her.

What would it actually take for him to take notice of her and interact with her?

 

Suddenly, whilst Jocelyn remarked on Ser Devan’s fine form, Sansa noticed Mary stiffen by her side. Her maid’s jaw clamped shut into a tight clench – one Stannis would definitely be proud of – as her gaze stayed fixed on two men who had appeared to the edge of the yard.

Curious, Sansa’s gaze followed as they only briefly looked towards the group training, before one of the two seemed to have noticed something, and moved... in her direction.

Sansa blinked, before her eyes’ narrowed slightly, taking a better look, as they drew closer. The first was brown-haired, tall, big across the chest, and arms large with muscle. As big as he was, he could be considered _‘normal_ ’ next to his companion. The second one: tall - _very_ tall -, broad shouldered, longish black hair, clean shaven, _handsome_ ; _very_ handsome... His only possible ‘flaw’ was a rather large bruise on the side of the face, and yet, the few days’ old mark really didn’t make him any less appealing. If anything it made him more _rugged_ and _manly_.

As if noticing her scrutiny of him, he stared boldly back at her, a charming grin growing on his face. The way he swaggered and smiled made Sansa think of the quarterback-type, who was more than aware of his looks and fit-build, and of his appeal to women. Even Jocelyn seemed to have momentarily forgotten about her dashing ‘ _Darling of the Vale_ ’, a light blush on her cheeks as the two men drew closer.

It was then Sansa noticed: _blue eyes_. Dark stormy blue eyes, so similar to Stannis’... and Edric’s.

Sansa blinked.

 _Ser Robert_. Edric’s father. The Baratheon brother who slept around. The brother Stannis had been in a brothel with. The brother Stannis had yet to mention was in the same city as them. _No wonder Mary stiffened_.

The wide grin hiked up to _full-on flirt_ mode, he swooped into a low bow to Jocelyn and Sansa, “Good morrow ladies,” his friend following with a slightly more restrained bow.

 _Yep, definitely a charmer_. _Ser Playa’_

“I hope you will forgive my forwardness, and allow me to present my companion and myself; Ser[ Donnel Swann](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Donnel_Swann) of[ Stonehelm](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Stonehelm), and I am Ser Robert Baratheon of Storm's End... I must confess I came here for a possible fight, but I now find myself too distracted be able to properly show you the true extent of my _abilities_ in a _tussle_.”

Sansa blinked. First by his forwardness. Then by the reality that became more and more apparent: he had no idea who _she_ was. That she was his _sister-in-law_.

Sansa’s first thought was to give him an earful. Not only to show him the extent of her irritation with him – his lack of care for Edric, lack of thought for his wife and daughters, his lack of decency... (the list went on) – but also all her frustrations to do with _his brother_ (that list was also becoming rather long).

But with a small steady breath, Sansa reminded herself that she was a _lady_.

 _Yeah, and perhaps it’s time to inform him of that fact, Sansa_.

A pleasant smile widening on her face, for once Sansa found her high status - only just above Jocelyn – a boon. By her gaze, it was clear that Jocelyn had come to a similar conclusion to Sansa about _Ser Robert_ , and her friend was clearly not only waiting for her to speak first, but was also clearly wondering _what_ Sansa was going to do.

Sansa stood - Jocelyn following close behind - as she extended her hand to Robert first, and then Ser Donnel Swann.

“Ser Robert, Ser Donnel. It is wonderful to meet new faces; King's Landing is such a wonderful place, filled with so many surprises to uncover, and new friends waiting to be made. Though, I find myself confused, good ser. I had thought you had married and been given your own keep? Would that not make you Ser Robert Baratheon of the Rainwood?”

Instead of possibly missing a beat, _Ser Playa’_ grinned further, a bark of laughter escaping him. “You have me caught, my lady. I do in fact have my own keep and lands. It is a most wondrous castle. The view of Cape Wrath is breathtaking from the lord’s chamber.”

Sansa blinked a second time, wondering why she was really that surprised by his shamelessness . She had just literally reminded him he was married, and he had proceeded to talk of the view of his bedroom. _Really_?

“But, my lady I have yet to know the name of the two most captivating treasures King's Landing holds...”

Sansa’s smile widened. “Apologies, good ser. You are indeed correct; I have been unforgivably remiss in my courtesies. Let me correct the slight straight away: I am Lady Sansa—”

“ _Baratheon of Storm's End_.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as the harsh voice growled just above her own. Her heart had definitely skipped a beat, being caught so off guard. _Stannis_.

Her head whipped to the side, all while hoping her surprise had not been too noticeable. But it wasn’t Stannis. It was _Eddard_. Eddard with Arstan and Ser Devan having followed close behind, all looking rather serious, with different levels of frowns and glares on their faces.

Taking a sneak past them, she noticed Stannis’ large form amidst a mêlée with the Vale knights, clearly unaware of his brother’s appearance.

As for _Ser Playa’_ , there was a mix of surprise and confusion on his face, before he exclaimed, “Ned! I was just about to join your group in the training yard. But first, it seemed only right that I greet my lovely sister-in-law.”

Sansa could have sworn she heard a growl at ‘ _my_ _lovely’_. Eddard’s glares had definitely hardened. Quickly, with a fair bit of false bravado, Sansa quickly interjected, “Yes, I was just meeting Ser Robert and his companion. Isn’t it wonderful that we chanced meeting, here of all places?”

Eddard’s gaze stayed locked on Robert, however. His dark grey eyes were hard as stone; so different to the soft grey fog that reminded her of her grandfather’s eyes.* “Yes, how _fortuitous_. A most unexpected meeting, would you not say _Ser Robert_? Especially since one would have thought Ser Donnel and yourself half way to through the Stormlands by now-”

“ _Robert_!”

Eddard closed his eyes briefly, his mouth clamping at the interruption. This time Sansa didn’t have to look to know _Stannis_ had finally noticed the little get together. Robert and the rest turned their gazes to the large form charging steadily towards them.

Despite her efforts, Sansa wasn’t able to stop herself from looking as well. Stannis’ attention was fully focused on his brother; _glaring_ at him. His eyes were ablaze, his jaw clenched; even his nostrils seemed to be flaring, just like a large buck readying for a fight. It was then that Sansa realised that she had never seen Stannis angry before; truly angry. _No._ _Furious_.

‘ _Ours is the Fury_.’ Then and there he was every bit a Baratheon. He could be a Storm King.

If his brother had any sense, he would get on his horse and head straight to his keep in the middle of the Rainwood. Especially since it Stannis’ sword happened to still be in his hand. But instead, _Ser Playa’_ proved to have a death wish as he _smiled_ at Stannis’ advancing form.

 _Although_... It was only when there were but a couple of steps between the two that Sansa realised they were practically of the same height and build. Stannis was only slightly taller, but Robert’s shoulders were broader. She found herself thoughtlessly wondering which one would actually win in a fight... Two big, muscly men rolling around in the mud, their shirt ripped, their muscles flexing-

 _Not the time Sansa_.

Sansa snapped out of her rather inappropriate and ill-timed musings to realise Stannis had already growled something at his brother, with Robert responding, “... I could not well leave before giving my farewells to mine own family: to my sister-in-law and my niece. – Speaking of which, where is the girl?”

Stannis gnashed his teeth. “Consider your farewells made.”

His fury was not abating. If anything it was increasing. Considering how much of a stubborn – _furious_ \- mule he could be, Sansa wondered if she should say something, or if it would just worsen the situation.

Unfortunately from the look on his (handsome) face, _Ser Playa_ ’ didn't seem to be ready to leave. If anything he seemed ready to challenge Stannis the request.

Sansa could have sworn the grip of Stannis’ hand tightened on the pummel of his sword. Eddard must have noticed as well, as he spoke, his voice firm. “Ser Robert, you mentioned joining the training in the yard. Care to join Ser Arstan and me in a sparring match, before your journey?”

Sansa could have hugged and kissed her ancestor on both cheeks, then and there. Instead, she gave him a small smile filled with gratitude.

Ser Robert’s gaze snapped to Eddard, his eyes scanning the whole of him. They also momentarily went over Arstan. Clearly satisfied by his opponents’ build he boomed. “Ha! Lead on _good ser_. Nothing like a good fight to start the day!”

 

Stannis’ gaze followed as the men moved further and further away. His hand clenched and unclenched at the pommel of his sword. His jaw, still tight, thankfully seemed to loosen the further they went. His gaze moved past Eddard, Arstan, and Ser Robert to land on his men still in the yard, many of whom seemed to have been watching the exchange. A new glare started to appear on his brow and the men immediately moved back and started training once more.

After a last look to the retreating forms, his heavy stare swerved to land on Sansa.

His voice, while softer, still came with a certain bite. “Why are you here, my lady?”

Sansa blinked several times. To be quickly followed by her own jaw clenching. “What do you mean ‘ _why are you here’_? Am I not allowed to be here?”

“You are proving yourself a distraction.”

“Surely men should be taught to ignore any possible distraction.”

“Aye, but there are no women on the battlefield.”

A picture of Arya holding her fencing sword coming to mind, Sansa snapped back. “Northern women fight. As do women from Dorne, I believe. - Are you telling me your men would get all distracted and confused if a bunch of bare-breasted Dornish women charged at them?”

For the briefest moment Stannis seemed caught aback by her remark, both his brows rising high, his eyes going wide. Sansa thought they had even blinked down to her chest, if only for a split second. But the next moment he dared _glare_ at _her_.

“My men have been trained to ignore any possible distraction. They know any possible hesitation could mean the difference between life and death; their own or those of others.”

“Make up your mind. Either I’m a distraction, or your men are so well trained that they are above _any_ possible distractions. _Which is it?_ ”

His jaw twitched. “It is men like Robert, who - though with skill - are ready to prance around and show off, just to gain the admiration and approval of any wench. – But none of this answers my question. _Why_ are you so near the training yard?”

Irritation rising – especially after being called a ‘ _wench’_ – Sansa retorted. “Oh, you know: my handmaidens and I thought it would be nice to just sit here and watch all the eye candy parading about.”

Stannis blinked, confusion overlapping his impatience. “ _Eye candy_?”

Goading him further, her irritation still on a high, she sighed dramatically. “Yeah – candy: _sweets. Eye candy:_ sweets for the eyes instead of the mouth… and there are _so many_ to choose from this morning.”

A growl definitely escaped Stannis’ clenched jaw. With it, Sansa realised she might have made a slight tactical error. Wanting to calm him before it went too far and he went all ‘ _Furious Stag’_ on _her_ , Sansa quickly added, “But truly Stannis, I’ve never seen anyone fight like _you_ before. You’re very strong and skilled,” all while letting her gaze drift down his body before returning to his face.

The comment certainly did the trick. Instead of whatever rebuke he had been about to tell her, Stannis blinked several times before he gave a stiff nod, glancing away. Sansa had actually to bite back a giggle, some of her frustration dissipating, noticing a slight redness on his cheeks and neck. He gave a cough, to then look back towards her.

“I have to stay strong. It is my duty to keep training; keep my body able. I am only ensuring that I am able to protect those under my care.”

His dark blue eyes stared straight into hers then, as if to convey the true meaning of his words; ‘ _protect you_ ’. Her belly fluttered and her face softened further, a small smile forming. Of course, in her silly girlish fancy, Sansa also found herself pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Stannis’ gaze followed her hand in its movement, from her cheek to her ear. It was Sansa’s turn to blush. His eyes darkened as they lowered from her ear to her neck, before travelling back to her face; more specifically to her cheek and then her lips.

Sansa suddenly felt _overheated_ once more, her cheeks warming. Was he thinking of kissing her? Her lips parted and softened of their own accord. As Stannis moved slightly closer to her, Sansa decided she wouldn’t mind if he decided he needed more _training_ in _this_ area... It _had_ been awhile - _six days_ \- since they had last kissed--

Ever since that last evening on the road, before arriving in King's Landing.

Her mood darkened at the reminder. Her lips closed, even thinning slightly.

Stannis must have noticed her sudden change in demeanour as he took a small step back his gaze now more looking at her with concern more than anything else. “Sansa?”

Sansa took a moment, looking from his questioning gaze down to her hands intertwining. Her gaze shifted again, turning to their surroundings. It was then that she noticed Jocelyn retreating form nearly out of sight. She was leaning against Ser Devan as he whispered something in her ear. His hand rested on her back in a tender and protective gesture.

She looked away from the loving scene to find all three of her handmaidens very much focused on their needlework on the benches behind them. A little _too_ focused.

After a long sigh, she finally looked back up, her voice and mind troubled. “Could we go for a walk, Stannis... through the Godswood?”

She didn’t want others close by for their conversation to continue. She needed the strength of her family as well – them and the Old Gods.

Stannis’ brow creased, his eyes momentarily taking in their surroundings as well, before he gave her a firm nod and offered her his arm.

 

**.**

 

It was only once they had walked to through the trees, to the edge of the Godswood that Sansa found the courage to finally speak. Both overlooking the[ Blackwater Rush](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Blackwater_Rush), her mind still troubled, she asked bluntly, “Why did you visit a brothel?”

Stannis’ head turned so fast, any faster he would have had whiplash. “A _brothel_?”

She forced herself to keep his gaze. “Yes, a _brothel_. Didn’t you go to one, with your brother,  and others?”

His previous surprise was gone by now. His eyes and voice hard, he countered with a demand. “I will learn where you heard such information, my lady.”

So many thoughts and feelings ran through Sansa then, with his avoidance and him actually _lording_ her. But refusing to show any possible hurt or confusion, she angrily retorted. “Does it really matter where I got it from? As long as there is _something_ to talk about, gossip will spread.”

Stannis had the nerve to glower _at her_. “Are you questioning my honour, my lady? Do you think me so lustfilled that I would stoop to visiting whores?”

Sansa glared back. “You are putting words in my mouth, _my lord_. I spoke of you going to a _brothel_ , I said nothing of _whores_. – Do you deny going to one?”

His jaw twitched as he looked towards the water. “No. I do not.”

 _There, that wasn’t so hard was it_? The tiniest of reliefs ran through her. She remained silent though, waiting. Sansa could only encourage him so much; she would not supply his responses for him. No matter how hard it was to stay quiet.

It did take longer than she would have liked though, for him to finally turn back to her and state, his face grim. “I would not dishonour you. I swore a vow, my lady.”

The ghost of a smile threatened her lips, but Sansa forced herself to calm it. “I’m glad to hear it... _husband_. If that is the case, surely you can tell me why you went to a brothel?”

“You know of Edric Storm.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sansa still answered it anyway, “ _Of course_. He has become Shireen’s closest companion.”

Stannis seemed to flinch ever so slightly, but the next moment he spoke once more, “Robert’s lust and drinking are well known in certain parts of the realm. I am certain Edric is not his only bastard, nor will he be his last. I am as certain of that as I am certain he will find a flagon of wine to drink by tonight. The day we arrived, Lord Arryn informed me that Robert was also in the capital; in a brothel indulging his appetites. I went, with a select few, to retrieve him and send him back to his keep before he did too much damage to the Baratheon purse or name.”

Sansa stepped closer to him. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”she asked, her voice soft.

“The matter did not concern you.”

“Yeah, up until I heard about it, and was even more convinced that you didn’t care for me and even preferred prostitutes.”

Stannis stilled in surprise, before looking irritated. “By the Seven, what makes you think I have so little regard for you?”

Self-conscious, her previous frustrations resurfacing with a vengeance, Sansa could help but snap back, “Oh, I do not know, _maybe_ given that you haven’t visited me since our arrival. And, _yes_ , I know you’ve been busy: loads of meetings, _bla-bla-bla_... but you actually seemed to be _avoiding_ me.”

Stannis’s mouth opened and closed twice without issuing a word. Finally, he glowered back, “I was being _considerate_.”

Sansa blinked in disbelief. “ _Considerate_?”

 

=

 

Stannis gave a firm nod. “ _Aye_. You informed me of the arrival of your… _courses_. I was being _considerate_ of your fragile state. I did not wish to over tax you. Given your situation, coming to your chambers would have been pointless.”

Given the forlorn look that appeared on her face, it had been the wrong thing to say. And yet, confusingly, Stannis did not know _what_ he had said wrong. He _had_ been considerate of her delicate condition.

His jaw clenched, stopping him from confessing he _had_ come to her chambers that first night, if only to check she had settled into her chambers without too much difficulty. But she had already been asleep when he had visited. He could still see her through the thin drapes; her head titled to the side, her long auburn hair covering her pillow, her chest rising and falling softly, as she continued to dream serenely. His absence hadn’t seemed to bother her then. Especially given her mongrel lying beside her, taking a large portion of the remaining space.

Nor could he tell her, thoughts of her and of their journey, in no way helped him make decisions on how to improve the state of the realm.

 _No_. Instead he decided to add, “Besides, given the fact that you hadn’t seen your family in over a decade, I thought it to would be the best moment to give you time with your father and sister.”

For the longest moment Sansa just stared at him, as if to catch him in a lie. The thought made his teeth clench. Did she not know he would not lie to her? There might be things that did not concern her, and thus he would not inform her of, but he would never intentionally deceive her.

Yet, even when she seemed satisfied, she remained silent. Instead, she looked down at her hands clasped together, and then at the bay, her mind even more lost in thought.

At long last, she gave out a heavy sigh and her mismatched eyes met his. “You could have _told me_ , you know. Instead of just leaving me wondering in confusion and hurt...” Stannis held back a groan. Women were such confusing creatures. He didn’t have the time to explain _everything_ to her. However, before he could possibly voice such thoughts, Sansa continued, her voice even softer. “... _Considerate_ is _not_ saying no more than three words to me when you see me. _Considerate_ is _not_ ignoring me for several days because I am unable to do a specific duty. _Considerate_ means being _mindful_ of the other. I am your _wife_ , Stannis. I don't want to be just another wife, just another lady. I want to be your wife as I want you to be _my_ husband.”

 

His mind going over all she said, they seemed accurate enough. Still, he couldn’t stop from being more fixed on the last ones more than the rest.

His muscles tensed slightly. His skin warmed. His throat became dry. Requiring clarification – wanting to be _mindful_ of her requests – his eyes fixed on hers, Stannis spoke, his voice somewhat rough, “You wish to be _my_ wife, and me to be _your_ husband...” He was tempted to take her hands in his, but thought better of it, only speaking his mind. “Shall I visit you tonight?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - ‘... she found no trace of her lord’s dark grey eyes, eyes that could be soft as a fog or hard as stone.’ – Catelyn, ACOK


	34. PART III, Chapter 4 – One’s Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE ADVISED: MATURE Content Ahead!
> 
> Due to the many wonderful comments from last chapter (and the fact that real life has come to bite me in the bum, so will have a lot less time in the next few weeks) I have decided to post this (rather highly anticipated) chapter today
> 
> Another HUGE THANK YOU to WONDERFUL Sarah_Black for going over most of the chapter!
> 
> Enjoy ;P

 

 

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what she did with the rest of her day. She remembered Cat asking her several times if she was well (something she had been doing frequently since the ‘ _brothel talk_ ’), not giving up when Sansa failed to answer her the first time.

She could recall Stannis stiff, silent presence, seated next to her during dinner. On the other hand, she could not recall what Brynden had talked to her about, or which story she had later told the children and teenage girls.

The day seemed like a blur. Her only clear thoughts were of _tonight_.

 

She could still see the different hues of green and smell the scent of the remaining Spring flowers – small hanging puff-balls of red, white and pale gold - growing on the elms, alders, black cottonwoods and the large oak tree. She could still feel the breeze on her back, and the tingly sensation of loose strands of hair gently brushing her neck. She could hear the water and the noises of the port in the distance. But most of all, Sansa still saw Stannis’ large stoic body in front of her; close enough for her to smell the sweat that clung to him due to his training. She still felt the heat of his breath on her cheek. She still heard his voice, softer than usual.

_“You wish to be my wife and me to be your husband... Shall I visit you tonight?”_

The words had been between a question and a statement. Sansa had been tempted to protest. Say rather bluntly that he had totally missed her meaning; that she wanted to spend more time with him, not that they should just spend time together in the bedroom. But something in his eyes and the tone of his voice had left the rebuke stuck in her throat. Instead, blood rushing to her cheeks, she had looked down and had given a shy nod of agreement.

Suppressing a smile, Sansa acknowledged that she _had_ missed his presence next to her as she slept.

 _We’re going to do more than_ sleep _tonight, though_.

She felt her heartbeat quicken. Her neck and cheeks soon felt much too hot, as she tried not to picture too much what would happen later... _soon_.

 

 _No_. She shook her wayward thoughts away. She needed to concentrate on the here and now.

Incidentally, the _here and now_ was her supposedly getting ready for _tonight_. The hot feeling in her cheeks only grew as she turned to face the bed, where her choices of... _eveningwear_ were spread out.

Her gaze sweeping over all the semi-transparent lace, the soft muslins and silks, Sansa found herself once more relieved that she always sent _Tweedledee_ and _Tweedledum_ away before her evening bath, and that she had even freed Mary of any more duties for the evening. She really had _no_ interest in dealing with an excessive amount of curiosity in her 20 th Century underwear; it had already been quite strenuous with her teddy and her new – much lighter and softer – nightdress.

There would definitely have been a palpable level of nosiness about these ‘ _unconventional_ smallclothes’, given how ‘shocking’ and ‘alluring’ they were. (Just as they were intended to be, really.) Call her possibly somewhat vain, but being from a privileged background and into fashion, Sansa liked to _shop_ ; shop for _nice_ things. The latest fashion, long bright seasonal dresses, shiny new heels... _very sexy lacy underwear_. Though she had obvious not yet reached the relationship stage of having someone to properly appreciate all the niceties of her lingerie - _well, Joff did see me once or twice in one of my nicer bras, but let’s forget about that -_ Sansa had been rather partial to visiting _Intimissimi_ , _Princesse Tam Tam_ , _La Perla_ , _Agent Provocateur_... (the list went on). _Really_ , a part of Sansa was convinced that there was no better way to make one feel better about oneself and improve one’s mood than by wearing sexy lingerie under one’s clothes. So _yes_ , she might have taken a few nice – _really nice_ – sets with her to wear during her cross-country trip with Arya.

 _Clearly -_ her gaze fixed on the several items laid out - this proved to have been a very wise move on her part.

 

After some deliberation, Sansa forwent the two black and the dark midnight blue sets. As gorgeous as they were, they were possibly a bit _too sexy_ and _racy_ for her first time. (Not to mention, they might also be much too racy for _Stannis’_ first time seeing her in 20th Century lingerie; she really did _not_ want to ‘ _incite’_ and ‘ _excite_ ’ him to the extent of charging for her like a raging bull.)

No instead, she went for the more tame snow white set. Not only did it go well with her pale skin, but it _did_ have that virginal vibe to it, and thus would hopefully help remind her red-blooded husband that she was in fact a _virgin_. It did seem the most appropriate and obvious choice _really_.

 

Of course, it was only once she was wearing the matching bra and panties that Sansa felt herself panic. It did not matter that she had already worn both several times and that they had always looked good on her - more than _good_. Presently, eyes going between her iPad’s mirror and actually looking down to the white lace, she couldn’t help but think the cups were _too_ sheer... her right breast was slightly crooked compared to the left one, the strap refusing to do its job properly... her thighs looked liked wonky tree-trunks ( _maybe like narrow maple tree trunks but still tree trunks_...) just below the thin, delicate material covering her nether regions...

 _Crap_! _What about shaving_? _Should I have shaved_? Her gaze fixed on her legs; she frantically passed her fingers down the length of her caves. They weren’t hairy... but _still_ , it had been a couple of days... Did women shave in the Dragon Age? Her brows creased, her hand still on her leg, Sansa recalled she _had_ shaved last time, and Stannis hadn’t made any comment... Was that a good thing? _He would have said if he thought it weird... right_?

Her heart only beat faster. Her frenzied mind couldn’t help but envision _him_ thinking her ungainly, her lingerie vulgar, her legs weirdly hairless...

... he found her actions clumsy and inept...

... he would be disgusted by her and the whole thing—

A sharp knock distracted her from her agonising thoughts.

Her throat hitched and her heart skipped a beat at the sound echoing through the nearly-empty room. After a breath, she quickly called out, “ _one moment please_ ,” before her voice decided to stop functioning properly.

After quickly closing the iPad, her eyes frantically looked over to the bed. The _nightgown_.

Rushing over, Sansa quickly put it on, covering the revealing outfit and her gangly, hairless legs.

Though possibly a tiny bit see-through – definitely in line with this hot weather – Sansa had sewn the empire style dress after concluding that wandering round the Red Keep in a modern teddy was probably not the best idea, especially given her two new handmaidens. She had kept it simple and understated. The gown had hardly any detailing: a few black thin trails of flower bunches, with the occasional golden thread, and another less discernible pattern of white-gold, adorned the bodice just below her bust, as well as trailing down the front in a style that was meant to elongate the wearer’s form.

Skimming her body, it was definitely nice and _flowy_ , making Sansa momentarily feel like a maiden from a fairytale.

 

But she wasn't a maiden in a fairytale. This was real life. A second sessions of knocks only reminded her of that further.

The tremor in her voice couldn’t be helped. “ _E-enter_.”

The door opened rather brusquely.

Stannis entered. His stare collided with hers.

Sansa’s throat became as dry as the Dornish Sands. He had a grim look in his eyes – _determined_. It was more the look of a man marching to a battlefield than the look of one going to his wife’s bed.*

 

=

 

His purposeful steps were halted as soon as he found her, Stannis finding himself unable to continue.

Her eyes were wider than usual. They were fixed on _him_.

It was surreal to be standing in this shadowy, candlelit room, finally just the two of them, the bed waiting.

She had let her hair down. It fell in soft waves over her shoulders, towards her hips and down her back. In the candlelight the auburn glowed like a fire only starting to braise; even her pale skin was luminous, and her eyes dark blue flames. She looked… _beautiful_ and _mysterious_. She reminded Stannis of a northern saying Eddard had once mentioned. Red haired individuals were so rare in the North and even more so beyond the Wall that the wildings tended to call them _kissed by fire_ and were to be lucky.

Shifting his gaze from her soft locks, Stannis took in the length of her. All she wore was a long shift, one he had not yet seen. She was taller than Lysa had been, he was certain. Yet, she seemed more fragile, slender. Mayhaps it was simply her youth, or the fact that _he_ was no longer a callow lad. Her demeanour definitely drew attention to her innocence. Stannis could see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath that she took, revealing her apprehension.

The nightdress itself hung loosely on her, concealing most of her figure, save for the slight inset and gold thread just below her breasts. And yet, _underneath_... Underneath, he could just about detect the outline of a bodice; a bodice similar to those he had seen in her satchel that first day in Storm's End. Unlike those first ones though, these were not _black_. Black would have been more discernible under the light shift. His eyes lowering, they went over her stomach. Stannis couldn’t help but imagine it _rounded_ ; rounded with _his_ child. His blood warmed at the thought. His gaze descended further, to the barely there shadow where her womanhood was hidden. With a slight tightness in his throat, Stannis forced his eyes to skim further down the rest of the shift until they reached the hem. Just below it, there was a glimpse of her slim ankles and bare feet.

Somewhere in the back on his mind, Stannis dimly heard Lord Arryn’s voice, commenting ‘ _Lady Sansa dresses differently than any other lady at court_ ’, and with her new fashions she was creating havoc on the seamstresses and cloth merchants. He had then ribbed Stannis to beware of his wife soon turning to _his_ wardrobe.

 _Mayhaps I need a change in wardrobe_. A new pair of night breeches at the very least; Stannis’ felt _tight_ presently.

 

“ _Stannis_...” She spoke with such softness, just above a whisper that it took a moment for him to register that his wife _had_ called his name.

He must have stood there too long - scrutinising her, not saying anything – for, although she gave a shy smile, she had also most definitely tensed and shifted. Her arms rose, bending, encircling her waist protectively.

Stannis bit back a groan. _Don’t just stand here and gape at her like an imbecile._.

He felt his neck redden, as he shook his previous foolish thoughts. _I am a lord, I am but doing my duty_ , he reminded himself.

So why did he feel like some blushing maid?**

 

He moved forward, trying to ignore the pressure in his groin.

Reaching her, he slowly stretched his hand out, aiming for her arm, giving her plenty of time to respond or retreat. She did not move, though. Eyes still wide, she only watched his progress intently. There was no resistance either when he made contact. Once cradling her wrist, Stannis could feel her quickened pulse.

Another tell to her continued nervousness.

Stannis could only think to stroke her as one would a skittish mare.  He let his fingers glide from inside her wrist and up her forearm. At the action, Stannis felt his own pulse beat slightly faster. All while trying to calm her, he found himself mesmerized by her skin; so _warm_ , _soft_ and _smooth_. His fingers mindlessly trailed lightly up her arm until he reached the small, capped sleeve of her nightdress. There was a shiver. Looking to her face, he noticed the faint flush had coloured the pale skin.

He could only think to widen his exploration at the sight. His hands moved further up; his thumb stroked her throat, as the rest of the hand stayed at the nape of her neck, feeling her blush. Much like a skittish mare, she progressively calmed, the fast tempo dimming as the stroking progressed.

He let one long lock slide between his fingers. He tried to recall how her hair had felt against his skin…

A slight hitch from her throat, called his gaze up to her face. Though, somewhat soothed, her mismatched eyes were still wide, filled with trepidation.

Stannis felt his throat tighten. And yet, the need to say _something_ , amplified until he whispered a truth, his voice hoarse. “Your hair is soft.” (It was not yet the time to remind her of what would come next.)

A moment of panic ran through Stannis, convinced he had said the wrong thing when - the blush deepening - her eyes only _widened_. The next moment though, something in them softened. Her long lashes fluttered, and she looked down at her small, delicate toes. Looking back to her face, Stannis followed as she then bit her lower lip, a small smile forming, before she whispered, almost inaudibly, “ _thank you._ ”

His eyes stayed locked on her mouth. The lower lip appeared _redder_ , and wet, from her nervous gnaw. Stannis found himself wanting nothing more than to taste her lips; _tasting_ to check if they were as sweet as he remembered.

Without asking for her leave or considering the matter further, he bent his head down, pressing his mouth boldly against hers.

There was a pause. It was the briefest of pauses, but in that one heartbeat Stannis’ mind registered his witless body’s actions. He immediately became  convinced that he had just done the most idiotic thing possible.

 _By the Seven_. He was to do his _duty_ ; _not_ taste if her lips were as _soft_ and _pleasing_ as before.

But then he felt her body _relax_. Not fully, but enough for Stannis to feel its warmth so close to his own. Her lashes fluttered close, and her lips pressed into his, _responding_. Before he could think better of it, he adjusted the position of his mouth to more suitably welcome hers. Her softer, plumper lips moved in response.

Eyes closing, his sense of smell seemed to heighten as he inhaled the delicate flowery perfume of her skin.

His hand lifted to the side of her face, _stroking_ it; caressing her smooth porcelain-like skin with his calloused fingers.... Hands and fingers that have battled and laboured... hands inept, _unfit_ for holding something so fragile...

And yet, as if to reassure _him_ , Stannis felt Sansa’s fingertips touching his temple, carding through his hair. Her boldness increasing gradually. Her fingers glided along his shoulders, gripping his nightshirt, feeling every hard line of his neck and covered back. Much like the last time, her movements were careful... tentative... touching him like she had never felt a man before, never felt his shoulders or arms or muscles... Touching him like… like …

 _By all the different Gods_. A groan escaped him. He was unable to think straight... think at all.

When he felt her smaller body shiver,  he groaned again, the sound muffled by their kiss.

He dragged one of his hands from her face, down her arm. It hit her hip, kneading the soft material covering her lithe body. So _soft_. His fingers could not help but grip; _squeeze_ the fabric... curling... tugging...

He dimly heard a small hum, as she pressed closer, soft breasts brushing against his chest...

His lips still on hers, his tongue swiped the length of her lower lip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as her mouth opened, letting him in.

As for his hand... his hand seemed to have slid up the shift to find the supple rise of a breast.

His manhood stiffened when her body suddenly rubbed against his, catching against it through their clothes.

She must as felt it as well, as the next moment there her breath hitched in her throat. She ended the kiss and shifted only the smallest amount away from him, but Stannis missed the warmth and the softness of her body at once, and felt that his own was all the more cold and hard.

Their breaths mingling, her every shallow exhalation tickling his jaw, Stannis forced himself to think. _My duty_. He was doing his duty; _they_ were doing their duty.

So why were they still standing? Standing far from the bed?

 

“ _Y-your shirt_... w-would... would you...” At the silent whisper, Stannis’ eyes snapped open to find guileless mismatched eyes looking at him.

His shirt did not need to be removed. Nor did her shift. They had only to move to the bed, and then he had only to unlace his breeches and remove her smallclothes, for them to be able to do their duty.

 _Nevertheless_ , there was something in her flushed cheeks, something in her darkened gaze, something in the way she was biting her lip, that stopped the words from being spoken.

Throat tight, he gave a stiff nod. He would not begrudge her this if the duty was willingly and readily done.

Taking a step back, now truly only feeling the heat of his own body, he turned away from her, and gripped the hem, pulling the shirt swiftly the length of his upper body and over his head. Eyes closed, all senses momentarily paused as the cloth passed over his head.

It was only when he placed the item on a nearby chair that Stannis discerned the sound of _rustling_. _Fabric rustling_. Fabric that was not his own. Brows creasing, he glanced back. He looked for less than a moment before averting his eyes. His pulse began to beat faster. The rustling persisted. The whispering of fabric continued until he knew she had fully stepped out of her gown.

There was a beat. And another.

Duty made him turn back.

Moments before, when he had realised that she had also been removing her shift, her back had been presented to him. But now Stannis could see down the whole side of her body. Two thin straps of cloth were the only obstructions. In the strangest way, they actually gave the impression of being _part_ of her. Only a shade lighter than her pale skin, the patterns moulded to her skin. The lace intertwined to her hip and rear, and the... _baskets_ cupped her breasts masterfully and delicately; so much so that for a foolish moment Stannis found himself wanting his hands to replace the strange bodice.

 

 _Duty_. The word impaled him like a sharp sword. Whilst a less than gentle prompt, it did remind him that he was, for some absurd reason that Stannis could not figure out, _stalling_.

Blinking, he noticed that at least _Sansa_ had moved to the bed. She was standing next to it though, looking down at the mattress through the translucent drapes. Steadily coming closer, Stannis realised that her eyes were _fixed_ on the covers. She was staring intently at them, as if preparing to hide her pale skin and the intricate - _intriguing_ – small pieces of ace that she had only _just_ revealed; even if the notion was undoubtedly _absurd_.

Alas, when she noticed his advance, she _did_ , in fact, skittishly dive under the sheets and away from view. His jaw twitching in disapproval, Stannis couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss run through him.

That was before, his teeth clenching all that much harder, he shook his head. _Dolt._ She _is where she should be. It is_ you _who is_ not.

 

Chest bare, his breeches clinging to his person, Stannis moved with a renewed resolve to the other side of the bed.

Ignoring the wide eyes following his every movement, he settled within the sheets - crisp and cool, in harsh contrast to the heat radiating from her... and from him.

 _Suddenly_ , just as he turned – just as he had been about to suggest... _something_ – small hands gripped his neck and jaw, and soft lips clashed against his own. Her kiss was only a peck; a firm press against his own lips. Yet, with its somewhat awkward start, given the fact that his mouth had been half-open, it soon became more _frenzied_. _She_ became more _frenzied_. Her mouth opened to mirror his, her teeth nipped at his lips, her tongue attacked the inside of his mouth...

Hand sinking into her long soft curls, he thought it best to respond to her sudden boldness, and deepened the kiss. His other hand landing on her hip, Stannis found himself shifting their bodies – pressing them closer together – before rolling them over, reversing their position.

He remained mindful of her slighter form under his larger one. His forearm pressed into the mattress, allowing him to hover over her, with his fingers continuing to trail through her hair and caress her temple.

 

Stannis’ lips left hers. She was _flushed_. Looking down from her reddened cheeks and wet lips, He could see her pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her throat. Of its own accord, his hand left her hip to trace the flutterings exposed on her long neck.

Her breath caught, before he felt her swallow deeply under his fingertips. Catching her gaze with his, Stannis skimmed a palm over her shoulder... it only stopped when the open palm reached the curve of her breast. His entire hand covered the strange cup. The texture soft, intriguing, his palm trailed over it. Her breathing was shallow; he could feel her chest rising and lowering quickly under his fingers. And then, when his thumb accidentally passed over her pert nipple, she let out a low sensual moan.

One that had her eyes closing, her head tilting backwards.

One that had his breeches tightening.

One that reminded him – _again_ – of their _duty_.

With a heavy sigh, his head nestled at the crook of her neck. He moved his thumb away. His hand slid off the interesting design and mound beneath, to roam down her ribs and flat stomach. Her skin was impossibly soft, impossibly smooth, save for the gooseflesh erupting as his fingers trailed past. Or possibly they erupted because she understood his intent, for the next moment he felt her tense, her whole body suddenly motionless.

His own hand halting, Stannis raised his head back up to look down at her; ready to remind her of their duty and reassure her. And yet, not for the first time this night, Stannis was caught off guard by his maiden bride. A small smooth hand covered his, still hovering over her stomach.

The sight so strange, the contrast of their hands in size (small over large), in shade (pale covering tanned), in texture (soft touching coarse) was so great, it took Stannis a moment to break his eyes away and look back at her face.

Her fingers shaking, she guided both their hands down the span of her stomach to the shadows beneath the covers. Stannis felt a tug of pride.. His young bride was evidently still nervous, no matter what had already passed between them, but she was truly ready to do her duty... so _willing_ that she was guiding his hand down to allow him to ascertain her _readiness_.

Not all the way though. The tremor in her fingers amplified, and there was a hitch in her throat when both their hands reached the strange smallclothes.

Eyes locked, his fingers slipped beneath. His hand felt her mound first, soft and covered in downy curls. He pressed onwards. _It is my duty. Our duty._

He forced himself to suppress a groan, the pressure in his groin increasing. She was _warm_ , _sleek_ , and _damp_.

He must have pressed to hard though for she suddenly gave a small yelp of protest.

Her hand joined his. “ _G-gentle, please... l-like this_...” Her whispers were as soft as her fingers, guiding his hand from the crown... to the lips... to the inner folds; always pressing lightly, encouraging caresses and circular motions.

They continued like this, their hands still lost in her heat, his mouth returning to hers, her nails scraping his nipple, his fingers running through her long auburn strands.

 

But then her sweet lips left his.

He opened his eyes to look at her. Though clearly flush, he noticed her blush deepening further, and her eyes darkening. He was reminded for the hundredth time. _Our duty._

 _It is time_.

But before he could speak, she whispered, her voice still shaking. “ _C-can... can I touch you_?”

Stannis frowned. She was _already_ touching him. Their bodies were pressed against one another. Her hand was on his ribs, her nails having been scratching – possibly even leaving a few marks - his hard skin. Her other hand was still with his own, on _her maidenhood_. Her long limber legs were intertwined with his own legs and hips.

Her lashes fluttered, before her eyes glanced the briefest moment _downward_.

Stannis blinked. _Surely_... Did she mean to ensure he was also ready? _Surely not_. Surely she could _feel_ the extent of his _readiness_ pressing against her. His manhood was all but ready to burst.

But staring straight back at him more boldly, her cheeks crimson, it seemed that it truly _was_ his maiden wife’s intent.

He felt conflicted. A part of him wanted to point out that her request absurd, yet he did not want to discourage her. It would be unfortunate if her present boldness was to fade back to skittishness. Truthfully, they _still_ had their duty to do.

Ultimately, jaw tight, he gave a sharp jerk of the head. She must have understood his acquiescence, for her hand slowly left his, and moved to his abdomen, right at the juncture where his breeches started to cover his skin.

His head sunk to her neck, unable to do anything but breathe heavily, until his throat felt raw. He could _feel_ her hand unlacing him, her small fingers _brushing_ against _him_. His hand clenched, his arm tensed next to his head at the crook of her neck. His breathing became even more laboured once he felt the _tightness_ ease as his breeches opened. The laces were mayhaps undone but the tension in his groin still very much persisted. They _needed_ to do their duty.

A tentative hand explored within, nimble fingers tickled the hairs that grew all around his manhood, but not yet _touching it_.

He bit back a groan as he finally felt the soft pads of her fingers brush against him. His entire body tensed up when her small hand actually wrapped around and _gripped_.

Arousal pulsed through him. Eyes tightly closed, his teeth clenching, the tension was so overwhelming that it took Stannis several ragged breaths and silent groans to realise that _nothing_ was happening.

With a jerk, he looked up to find her still beneath him, wide eyed staring back at him. Her lips were slight parted but she said nothing. Only soft shallow breaths could be heard. She glanced down to the shadows where her hand _continued to hold_ his manhood, and then up at his face, as if asking for reassurance.

Stannis felt himself swallow, his throat rough and dry. “It may hurt,” he admitted.

Sansa blinked once, before she nodded and stole another glance... _Apprehension_? _Curiosity_? ... _Both_?

The sensation of her hand moving up and down quite suddenly broke any more thought. Caught off guard, a pained _whimper_ escaped _him_. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. His head sank down to nestle against her neck, and a blissful _torture_ commenced. Without his guidance, her hand started moving, _stroking_ him. He shivered, and his skin prickled. Intense sensations ran the length of his body, through his veins, pooled in his groin, and _stiffened_ his manhood further - if that was truly possible.

He could not go on. _This_ could _not_ go on.

He could feel his hips moving, encouraging her to go faster – as if he were but a rutting beast.

Without thought, his hand reached down and removed her torturous fingers and ministrations from his person. With shallow breaths, his head lifted, to find her staring at him. Troubled by her odd look, he blurted the oblivious – “ _Duty._ ”

Thankfully, with the next breath, his brain regained a semblance of competence, and Stannis quickly added, his voice still hoarse but calmer, “It is time... _Sansa_.“

There was a slight hesitation before the tiniest of nods.

With it, he guided his hand back down to her waist and over the curve of one hip.

He was alone this time; both her hands were resting higher up on his body. One was on his shoulder blade. The other – the one that had been _touching him_ \- was now placed at the dip of his waist, her fingers digging into his back. He felt her tremble again as his hand found the curls at the junction of her thighs once more.

Sansa flinched slightly as he slid one finger inside her, trying to gauge her readiness. She was _sopping wet._ Had any maiden been so soaked? And yet, the _tightness_ was unmistakable; she was tighter than Lysa had been. Much tighter. He tried a few of the caresses she seemed to have appreciated beforehand. They helped a little, and the tightness eased to an extent. Yet, most of it persisted. The second finger he carefully eased inside her all but confirmed it.

He withdrew his fingers carefully, slightly daunted. He refused to lie to her. His eyes meeting hers, he spoke, “this will cause you some pain,” his voice much rougher than usual.

“ _I-I know_.”

Her words should have made him feel better; they did not. He did not want to cause her pain. The thought was as foolish as it was disconcerting. He _knew_ there would be pain. So did she; a septa had warned her of the act of breaching her maidenhead. The pain and the blood.

His jaw twitched. _Duty_. The word sounded more like a curse this time.

 

Still, holding her gaze he settled himself between her legs.

His manhood brushed against her mound before he properly took himself in hand. He felt the whole of her body stiffen as the head touched her maidenhood.

She was so damned tight.

Sansa’s eyes were wide, watching him. Stannis hesitated, and then pressed a light kiss to her lips. But he had no words. No more words of reassurance. They both knew what was coming next.

He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and entered her. There was only a slight hitch as he moved inside, but her body’s stiffening was unmistakeable. Every muscle in her body tensed, as she uttered a strangled gasp of pain. He could her nails digging into his arm and back.

Stannis held himself still. His eyes squeezed shut in an effort to maintain control. He wanted to say something, _anything_. But his mind found no words. His manhood, still hard as  iron inside her heat, made it difficult for him to think coherently.

He inhaled a shaky breath.

His heart slowing, he slid his arms around her, gathering her closer to him, as he let himself slowly sink deeper. He heard the breath catch in her throat, felt her tense, but she did not try to stop him, did not try to push him away. Instead he heard her small voice hoarse and shaking, whisper, “ _c-could you kiss me_?”

He was silent - aside from his loud, laboured breathing -  when his lips found hers.

It was only after he lifted his head once more, his eyes fixed on his wife, that Stannis noticed two tears having trailed down her cheeks, and that another was threatening to join them.

Instinctively, his mouth pressed softly against the first tear... the second... and then the one still at the corner of her eye. His hand gently moved the length of her flank, caressing her as one would pet a frightened pup.

He righted himself, trying to gain some leverage. _Make it fast_. His body withdrew, before falling into an instinctive rhythm, rocking into her, withdrawing. Stannis bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came in gasps. Arousal spiralled inside him, becoming tighter, more urgent, until it became painful. His control snapped in a moment that hovered between agony and ecstasy.

He gave a long groan as his seed spilled inside her. The contractions went on for a long, blissful moment. Stannis exhaled a deep, shuddering breath. The sensation of release... of fulfilment... In an instant, Stannis felt as if he were drugged on milk of the poppy. His mind was numb. His muscles were loose. Every inch of his skin tingled. His body felt sated; the sense of relaxation sinking in until it was bone-deep.

And yet, all too soon, awareness of the smaller body, lying soft and warm beneath him returned with a vengeance. He felt her rapid heartbeat. He heard each low breath that she took. She lay quietly, not pushing him away, letting him rest on her. The sense of fulfilment vanished abruptly. All the more careful of his movements, Stannis rolled off her and sat up on the side of the bed, away from her his back turned.

He swallowed; his throat tight. He could feel the sweat of exertion stuck to his skin.

He recalled the _tightness_ , the sharp cry. He could still feel the _remnants_ of their coupling on his manhood. Stannis looked down between his legs at the blend of his seed and her blood stuck on him, drying out. He knew that he should feel some sense of _accomplishment_... fulfilment, for having finally done their duty and affirmed their union. Instead he found himself thankful that his back was turned and that she could not see as well from where she still lay.

 

He took another shallow breath before he turned his head back to look at her, to find his eyes caught by hers. She had pulled the sheet over most of her form, with her pale neck and shoulders the only parts showing. Only then did he realise she was still wearing her strange bodice, the two strands hanging onto her shoulders.

His voice hoarse, he could not think of anything else but enquire, “Do you need a wet cloth?... Or I could call a bath?”

She slowly shifted, awkwardly sitting up, her eyelashes fluttering downward. Her voice was so hushed that he barely heard her say, “ _n-no thank you... I..._ ” She looked to the side of the bed, stretching to something he could not see, all while her hand continued to hold the sheet, taking care to keep her body covered.

She pulled on something.

Her shift.

Stannis’ eyes followed as it was flung over her, and covered her body.

It was only then that she stood from the bed and turned to him once more. Her body shifted uneasily once more. Her gaze continually breaking with his, her hands intertwining, he could see a light blush form on her pale cheeks. “... I will... will go to the privy.”

 

**.**

 

The cool night air his body and cleared his mind... _some_.

He still recalled their coupling. His shoulders still sensed the ghosts of her fingers digging into his flesh. He still heard the cry of pain. He still recalled the tension of her body under his, her stillness.

He had wiped the unpleasant dried remains, though. As he had laced his breeches back together.

 

Still, when Sansa timidly moved back into the room, and found him standing near the bed, Stannis felt her eyes glance momentarily to his groin, before she just as swiftly looked away, her cheeks reddening, her body shifting again.

Before he could think better of it, Stannis found himself blurting out – “Is all well?”

His teeth clamped at his idiocy. _Obviously, not all is well_.

Yet, belying her nervous state, she gave a jerky nod. “Y-yes, t-thank you.”

His jaw twitched further, wanting to point out that, undoubtedly, not _all_ was _well_. Despite her lie, he couldn’t help but ask, _persist_ , “Is there anything you wish me to do?” He was her husband; her _husband in truth_ now. She was _his_. His to care for.

Her long lashes fluttered, her eyes wide on him once more, before finally, biting her lip she asked silently, “w-would you hold me?”

His indecision was only momentary. The request a small one compared to the duty she had endured.

Stannis gave a sharp nod, moving back to the bed. He would hold her the time it would take her to doze.

 

Once she was asleep, he would go retire to his own chambers.

 

 

**.**

 

 

Stannis jerked out of his slumber.

Becoming more aware to the dark chambers, it was only at the sound a soft hum, the feel of warm breath on his chest and soft skin – a foot - rubbing lightly against his calf that Stannis realised that he was still in Sansa’s chambers. In her bed. With her body covering his.

With a silent grumble, he raised his head to look through the translucent drapes. Out passed the balcony, he could just about see a streak of crimson red glowing above the surface of the water.

 _Dawn_. He had remained the whole night.

 

A hushed knock came at the door. _A second knock_ , Stannis grasping what had first pulled him out of his sleep.

Sansa’s body shifted once more, settling further into his flank, as another huff made her thoughts clear on the disturbance.

Stannis was more than ready to agree with the soft grumble. With a frown, he slowly forced himself to shift both Sansa’s and his body – eliciting another dissatisfied moan from her – and sat up, pushing the drape out of his way. Unfortunately, with it he heard a soft mumbled voice call out behind him, “ _Stannis_?”

He turned, finding Sansa’s head slightly raised and two weary eyes looking at him. Instinctively, his hand reached to her. His thumb and fingers trailed over temple and through her soft auburn hair. “Rest my lady.”

There was an odd dreary nod of agreement, and she slumped back down in the pillows, mumbling something incoherent.

After a last look at her form, already finding sleep once more, Stannis gave a long sigh before leaving the warmth of the bed.

 

Jaw tight, he reached the door and called out his voice low but harsh. “What is it?”

Ryman’s voice came through. “My lord, Ser Davos has received news from his acquaintances, of ships from the east. He insisted that you would want to know when he heard.”

It took Stannis a moment to make sense of the words. _Davos... ships... east_...

 _Rhaegar_. A groan escaped him, as his hand ran through his hair.

The eunuch’s little birds would soon tell him as well. _If he doesn’t already know_.

 

All this only meant one thing, based on the previous days. His Grace would call for Stannis within the hour.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - “If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how Stannis ever got that ugly daughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed like a man marching to a battlefield, with a grim look in his eyes and a determination to do his duty.” (Renly) Ned, AGOT
> 
> ** - _I am a man of the Night’s Watch_ , he reminded himself. So why did he feel like some blushing maid? – Jon, ASOS


	35. PART III, Chapter 5 - A Change of Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons messing up everything (again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to No_One82 and Sarah_Black for your suggestions and corrections on this chapter!

 

Sansa wasn’t sure where her skin ended and the milk started. Only her red hair broke through the colourless pool.

_White against white_. Much like the pale liquid, her skin shone in the morning light. It looked different. Different but the same.

_She_ felt different.

_Well_ , what she could _really_ feel was the continued rawness between her thighs; she ached as if she had ridden for days on end without stopping.

_I’m not the one who did the actual ‘riding’ though_. Her cheeks and neck heated up. Sinking further down into the cooling bath, she found herself once more relieved that the milk hid most of her nakedness, even from herself, as her mind drifted once more back to last night.

Obviously, Sansa had already been prepared for feeling some pain. Enough sex-ed classes and coming of age films had made its impending occurrence/incidence more than clear. As had the various levels of details from her friends and Arya.

Then again she hadn’t thought that it would hurt _so_ much. When she had first _touched_ him - _held **it**_ in the grip of her hand - he had just been so _big_. Nature or whichever Gods had definitely been _generous_ the day they made him. _Yes_ , it was supposed to ‘all fit’; all ‘nice and snug’, so that the two parts joined well together, to hopefully even create pleasure for both participants. Yet, Sansa had definitely panicked, doubt rushing through her, as the main question blaring inside her had been: _How - the fudge - is that extra-large_ _thing_ _going to_ fit _inside_ me? Even if her hips expanded miraculously she was still freaking _tight. – You know, being a_ virgin _and all that_.

_So, yeah_... Despite the few kisses Stannis had given her, or even how he had tried to take the time to make her wet, it had _hurt_. Hurt _a lot_. As it _continued_ to feel sore and numb. She swore she could still feel _him_ there, in her, _now_. The _‘Ghost of Lord Big and Muscly Jr._ ’.

 

Sansa let out a long sigh (trying not to shift her hips too much). _Hopefully it will get better... soon_.

Unfortunately, as soon as the thought escaped her another unwelcome memory came blasting in, bringing a grimace to her face. One thing _no one_ had told her – not even blunt (especially about all things sex related) Myranda – was the _messiness_ of it. Not necessarily the ‘ _during’_ bit but the ‘ _right after’_ bit. It had been... _well, gross_. Not to mention, there had been rather _a lot_. – _Did_ all _men produce that much_? Or was she just that ‘ _lucky’_?

A shiver ran through at the memory. _By the Old Gods_ , it had been the most uncomfortable thing. Stannis had just been there, sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at her. Sansa was still in pain, half-lying, half-sitting, when she had felt a large amount of _stuff_ slowly ‘ _move downwards’_.

Sansa had actually first thought she was bleeding – or really, _still_ bleeding. _I mean, the guy is BIG_. It certainly had not helped that she was still in pain, with a strange numbness in between her legs that had her convinced her parts would never work properly again.

Of course, in her naive-virgin brain Sansa had just always assumed all _bodily fluids_ would be ‘ _soaked up’_ or something; i.e. - the vagina becoming a weird sponge thing soaking in all up. (Not that she had ever really thought about it.)

Evidently _not_. It had made an awkward ending ten-times more awkward. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the weird amalgamation dribbling out of her. It had been rather sweet of Stannis to offer to help her clean up but all Sansa had been able to think of was getting to the toilet as soon as possible. She really wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to seeing his ‘ _super-heir-making-sperm_ ’ coming out of her and running down her leg. Nor had she been ready to find out last night.  It definitely would have added a whole new level of embarrassment to the evening.

_At least he held me afterwards,_ Sansa conceded. Stannis had even stayed with her the rest of the night, until some – _rude_ – guard had woken him up and taken him away from her.

 

The sound of others shifting in the outer chamber pulled her out of her musing. Her frown dissolved to a forlorn expression.

Letting out another sigh, Sansa closed her eyes and let the smells of the honey, the herbs, the lavender over take her before letting her body slowly sink down further into the tub, till her head dunked into the warm milk.

 

It was only once she was out of breath that Sansa fully emerged back out; not just her head but whole body, standing in the tub as she stretched her arm and reached for the long towel.

Shivering slightly, Sansa wrapped herself closely, all while the reality that she hadn’t seen Stannis since he had left early this morning continued to sink in.

Instead of Stannis, it had been her maids who had come a few hours later; to wake her with a hot drink of herbal and lemon water. (Such a shame that coffee and tea didn’t exist yet.)

Thankfully, by now, they knew to open the drapes if they weren’t already open, and see if she required anything else, before setting to work on other tasks in the outer chamber and getting her breakfast and bath ready, with Mary always making sure no one entered her bedroom whilst Sansa did her morning workout and yoga stretches routine.

_Definitely no yoga today though_. Sansa was sure she couldn’t do with any stretching – in particular, _thigh_ stretching – today, especially as it would make her think even more of last night and would have her looking as red as a tomato all day.

In its place, she had directly asked for her bath; milk bath rather than a just normal one.

There had most definitely been looks of surprise and intrigue on the women’s faces at her change in routine. Neither had Sansa failed to notice their gazes on her neck, where she could still feel the bristles of Stannis’ close-cropped beard; even if the handmaiden turned away before Sansa looked in their direction. At least – as per usual – it had been Mary who had been at her side when she first got out of bed, and had been the one to quickly cover the small stain of blood before the others saw it, to then remove it when the other two had already retreated to the outer room.

 

Dried, hair combed, Mary was just about to help Sansa put on the actual dress over her shift, bra, and panties, when the sound of a knock at the outer chamber door came through.

Her breath hitched the smallest amount. There wasn’t really anyone that Sansa wanted to see this early, except for –

But no, surely _he_ would have just used the door connecting to his own room.

Knowing there wasn’t any time to properly put the intricate dress on, Sansa indicated Mary to pass her the light grey dressing gown. She had barely slipped it on when a second knock resonated at the bedroom door.

Reaching the door herself, Sansa opened it to find Deana waiting patiently.

“Yes?” she asked expectantly, all while passing the threshold between the two rooms.

Following her back into the larger room, the handmaiden explained, “You have visitors, my lady. T’is Lady Shireen, she was wanting to see you.”

“- _and me_!” a childish voice interjected. _Edric_. Not a moment later, Sansa caught sight of a small mass of black hair charging swiftly into the chamber, to nearly run into Sansa.

Sansa could have sworn she heard a huff from one of the ladies but paid it no mind. Instead she tried to follow the fast pace of Edric’s words. “—nightmare full of dragons and fire... they had great big teeth... that’s what she told me...”

A concerned frown forming, Sansa turned to the door where Shireen’s small form was shifting within Sarra’s skirts.

Keeping her voice soft, she asked, “You had another nightmare Shireen?”

Guileless blue eyes blinked up at her. Dark blue eyes so similar to her father’s yet so different... so hesitant. Had Stannis ever been hesitant about anything? – _No_ , it was all _duty_ with him.

Still, as their eyes met, the little girl seemed to have found the courage to move into the room, and also reach Sansa, all while a more energetic Edric continued to shuffle and hop around them.

“I had bad dreams,” Shireen’s soft voice confessed. “About the dragons. They were coming to eat me. To eat all of us.”

The disclosure reminded Sansa of her own dream. It hadn’t been a nightmare per-se. If anything, she remembered a sense of peace and relief had run through her. It had been strange though; an eerie quality to it. All she could remember were thousands of weirwood trees, their leaves bright red, their bark glowing white in the dark night. They had been _crying_ ; all of them crying, long streaks of deep crimson staining the pure white wood, as if they bled all through the night.

The musing ended a moment later when Edric, still lively, came closer to his cousin and took her small hands in his. “Shireen you have to remember what Maester Cressen told us. Remember he said that there haven’t been any dragons for over a century. All that remains of them are their skulls; those in the Throne Room. They cannot come to life,” his tone calmer, wanting to reassure her.

Sansa’s thoughts turned dark then. Edric wasn’t exactly wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right either. Not that she would tell either child that; telling the three year old dragons would come back would probably freak her out even more. Forcing a soft smile, she crouched at eye level with her and looked at her calmly. “Dragons are majestic animals, Shireen. Yes, they are large, strong... even fierce and dangerous, but...”

Both Edric and Shireen looked at her expectantly.

_But they will be needed soon enough. Soon you will be happy they are here_.

“... But they also keep us warm with their fire... and bring magic... just like in Harry Potter. Remember what Hagrid said: they are misunderstood creatures. And when Harry and Ron fell in the Devil’s Snare, it was the fire from Hermoine’s wand that set them free. There is no light more powerful than the fire of a dragon. Why else would they make the greatest swords from dragon fire?... Besides, Princess Daenerys is a dragon. Is she not kind? Do you think she would let her dragons eat you?”

While Shireen seemed slightly reassured by Sansa’s arguments, a frown formed on Edric’s small face at the last comment. “Why would Princess Daenerys have the dragons? Why not the king or the princes?”

_Crap_. Sansa held back a groan. She couldn’t well say that neither Crazy Aerys nor his two princely-sons would ever see the dragons and it would be Daenerys who raised the last three as her children, now could she?—

_Knock. Knock. Knock_.

Sansa’s head snapped up at the welcomed interruption. Righting herself back up, she called out, for Doreah to re-enter the chambers. She gave a quick bow before informing them, “there is news that a white raven has arrived from the Citadel, my lady.”

Thankfully, as if to answer Sansa’s unspoken question, Edric exclaimed excitedly (having gratefully forgotten his previous question), “a _white_ raven! That means... that means summer has arrived!”

Sansa blinked. _Summer_. She felt her stomach sink as she realised _which_ summer this meant: ‘ _the Long Summer’_ , the longest summer that had existed, lasting just over ten years. The one to be followed by a harsh and deadly winter that would be just as long, and even more renown.

Appreciatively though, the two children seemed oblivious to her troubled mind as both of the small heads had snapped to her then, expectantly. The question was in Shireen’s eyes but it was Edric who voiced it, the anticipation palpable. “Might we go see the white raven?”

Forcing her smile to return, Sansa answered diplomatically, “We will have to ask Grand Maester Pycelle.” _And hopefully_ ‘Not-Family-Guy-Herbert-with-a-beard’ _won’t leer at me the whole time we ask him_.

“Do you think Edmure will want to come?”

Sansa’s smile dimmed slightly at Edric’s latest question. She couldn’t help but wonder if he only mentioned Edmure since they had spent time together in the last month, or if it was also because he had perhaps seen the odd looks Cat would give him when she saw him.

“We can always ask him when we see him. But remember that we first need to go to the Grand Maester. The ravens from the citadel are smart animals in the care of maesters, not toys for your amusement.”

A serious look appeared in the boy’s eyes then, his square jaw tightening. One so similar to his uncle’s that Sansa momentarily wondered if Stannis had looked just like that as a boy. “I know they are not toys, we only want to see it.” He insisted, slightly louder than before. _Well, he’s as stubborn as his uncle at least_.

Wanting to calm him (before he possibly became even more like Stannis when not getting his way), Sansa replied another truth with a smile, “yes but you’ll have to remind Edmure of that. _He_ can be overeager sometimes.”

Turning to the large table, with the platter of food and the carafes, she steered the two children over. “Now, have you broken your fast? There will be no maesters or ravens before then.”

 

 

Sansa had just finished a second peach, Shireen still silently eating a biscuit, and Edric devouring oatcake after oatcake, when yet another knock – a sturdier one – rang through the length of the space.

When Mary opened the door this time, it was to find the royal steward on the other side.

Standing and moving closer, it was only then that Sansa noticed a kingsguard behind him. Her throat tightened slightly as she recognised Ser Jaime Lannister. _Not-so-Golden-Boy_. She hadn’t really seen him since that first day. Sansa wasn’t actually sure who he guarded. It had always been either Ser Barristan or Ser[ Jonothor Darry](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jonothor_Darry) who would bring her Shireen and her to and from Princess Daenerys’ chambers and stand guard whilst they visited. On the other hand, she had seen little of the other _White Cloaks_.

In any case, it was surely still too early to receive an invitation from the princess... _no_?

Greetings and bows swiftly done, the royal servant gratefully went straight into the matter of things, alleviating Sansa’s curiosity.

“His Grace has called for assembly in the Throne Room, Lady Baratheon. His Grace, Prince Rhaegar, is to arrive within the hour in King's Landing’s port...”

_Prince Rhaegar!_

Sansa’s heart jumped. Whatever she had been expecting was not this. _Oh my! Oh gods! RHAEGAR!_ – She was _actually_ going to meet the legendary prince; the one behind all the stories, songs and films. The disbelief and excitement inside her was so grand that Sansa _might_ _just have_ missed the rest of the man’s words.

Thankfully though, able to keep her cool (somewhat), she found her voice again and asked, “Has Lord Baratheon been notified?” _Wherever he may be_...

“The Small Council is already in session, with Lord Baratheon among them, my lady.”

This time, Sansa listened fully as he went on to explain that the council meeting would most likely last the rest of the hour and would go straight to the Throne Room from there, where they would await the arrival of the crown prince and his family. Obligingly, the man acknowledged that both Shireen and Sansa needed time to dress appropriately for the gathering. His final statement, however, surprised and confused Sansa, “... Ser Jaime will stay to guard your door as you ready, before escorting Lady Shireen and yourself to the Throne Room.” Leaving her to wonder why exactly they would need the escort.

Still, Sansa couldn’t think of anything else to do but give a nod-bow of acceptance, as her smiled stayed fixed on her face.  “We thank His Grace for his generosity.”

 

It was only after the door closed that Sansa remembered something else rather important about _Prince Rhaegar_ : he had stolen Stannis’ fiancée, Lyanna Stark.

**.**

 

Whilst Not-so-Golden-Boy went to take his place under the throne, Sansa hovered just inside the door, with the two Baratheon guards still standing close behind her.

Shireen stood by her side, her hand tightening in Sansa’s. Looking down, a pang of dismay ran through Sansa as she noted that the little girl looked even shier than usual, her young wide blue eyes currently locked on the larger dragon skulls, by the throne. Sansa could only assume that she was remembering her nightmare. In addition, perhaps like her, Shireen also remembered the only other time they had come to the large room.

Hiding her own anxiety, Sansa gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Come. Let’s join the other ladies of court in the gallery. Cat and Edmure are most likely already there.”

Shireen’s gaze went to Sansa and – although it was smaller and still troubled - returned the smile, before giving a firm nod, as if she had found  some of her father’s courage or her cousin’s assurance.

Upon reaching the higher level, many gave quick bows as they shifted out of the way, enabling them to reach the front without much difficulty, as well as find the Tullys all that much faster. First appeared Edmure; rushing towards them with excitement. Cat followed close behind, at a slower, ladylike pace, her face calm and demure, with her septa and companions at the rear. (And yet, Sansa didn’t fail to notice the animation in the teenage girls’ eyes behind their restrained postures, as well as Septa Sofia’s stern gaze at the four, as if reminding them they were in front of the whole of court. She could only assume they had shown much more excitement in Cat’s chambers, when they had first heard of the Silver Prince’s arrival.)

Only once the greetings done and everyone properly settled - Edmure talking animatedly, capturing most of Shireen’s attention, whilst the girls giggled softly amongst themselves - did Sansa look to the main space. She quickly found Ser Brynden red-brown hair and the mud-red and azure-blue samite of her Tully ‘father’. They stood near the front of the assembly, with many other lords and ladies. Knights, squires, and rich townsfolk further in the back, filled the length of the hall with a jumble of rich gowns and doublets, feathers, crystals, gold, and silver chains, and jewellery. The scene, not too different from a brood of hens in Sansa opinion, was completed with the flurry of excitement and incomprehensible chatter.

Looking back to the front, Sansa noted several of the men she knew to be part of the Small Council were standing by the Throne, also in their fineries, showing their House colours. Her eyes swiftly scanned each, but she found no sombre blacks. Stannis wasn’t amongst them. Neither was Lord Arryn, Potato-Head, nor Ginger-Man.

However, not a moment later, as if summoned by her thoughts, Varys appeared, moving swiftly into the hall, taking the same position as last time: to the right, behind the throne, next to the largest of the dragon skulls.

A moment passed and Lord Arryn entered through the tall doors in the rear, looking calm and collected –

Sansa’s heart jumped. _Stannis_ was a but a step behind his mentor, looking even graver than usual. So different from the man last night.

Behind them Ginger-Man also followed, though looking rather angry; specifically shooting several not-well-hidden glares to Stannis’ back. Sansa wondered if they had a disagreement. Or had her husband just possibly used his natural talent of rubbing someone the wrong way?

She smiled to herself as she recalled their first days together, back in Storm's End, before she had gotten to know him a bit better. _Gods_ , she had actually _slapped_ him on that first day. _Well, he did order some old guy to look at my private bits_!

She  sighed and shook her head. Who would have thought, all those weeks ago, that she would end up married to him... that she would _sleep_ with him?—

A herald’s voice rang out, distracting her from her reminiscing. “All hail His Grace, Aerys Targaryen the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

A huge white knight preceded the trio entering – Ser[ Gerold Hightower](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gerold_Hightower), the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard according to Brynden. Another, only slightly shorter, walked steadily beside Aerys.

As for King Crazy, he definitely looked less irritated than he had on the day she and Stannis arrived. He seemed to be half-skipping to the throne, despite the heavy crown pressing down on his messy hair, and the substantial ornamentation added to his long robes of interwoven crimson and silver threads.  Sitting on the black monstrosity, he was positively chipper compared with the three kingsguards standing close at hand.

Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the White Swords were with the prince?... Or possibly one was with the younger ever-missing prince and another with the just as absent Daenerys.

 

There was a sudden hushed silence as the king looked out over the Hall. And then he _smiled_. It wasn’t a large smile, not even a hint of teeth, his lips just quirked upwards by the smallest amount.

At the sight, Sansa tried to remember if she had seen him smile the only other time she had actually been in his presence, five days ago. She was pretty sure he hadn’t. It was rather disconcerting now. He appeared calmer... _happier_ , yet, there was a strange gleam in his lilac eyes that unnerved Sansa.

 

The smile grew larger when a blast of trumpets came through.

As soon as the doors opened to their fullest, the herald called out once more.

“All hail His Grace, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone. His lady wife, Elia of Houses Targeryen and Martell, Princess of Dorne. His daughter, Princess[ Rhaenys](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rhaenys_Targaryen_\(daughter_of_Rhaegar\)). His sons, Prince[ Aegon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Aegon_Targaryen_\(son_of_Rhaegar\)) and Prince Jaenerys.”

 

Her breath held, Sansa watched the royal procession.

From where she stood, her gaze first landed on the tall, dark haired, slender woman. Though undoubtedly beautiful, especially in a mixture of gold, orange and red fineries, with the dark stones gleaming from her neck, in perfect match to her onyx black eyes, the Dornish princess looked rather plain next to her husband.

Prince Rhaegar was _beautiful_. With dark indigo eyes and sleek, long silver hair, dressed in black silk, high black boots, a crimson satin cloak, three dragons embroidered in the same crimson red on the breast of his tunic, he truly was – hearts of flowers, a hundred virgins sighing... panty-twisting - _beautiful_.

Sansa found it hard to look away from him. _This is what a king should look like_ , she thought as the man passed.*

She forced her gaze away though. ( _Before any possible drool appears._ )

She glanced at the young princess and princes.

It was a strange sight. If you passed the three on the street you would never have thought them siblings. Only the oldest of the boys took after his father; a childlike version of the princely vision. In the same way, the little princess was a miniature version of her mother. As for the second prince, the only thing he seemed to have received from his father was the sombre expression. But even in that, if she hadn’t known any better, Sansa would have been convinced that he was Eddard’s son: long face, dark hair, silver-grey eyes. Studying a little longer, she conceded that he was more slender than Eddard, though: a lean build similar to his father and older brother. Still, there was no hesitation as to whom his mother was. _Lyanna Stark_.

As a paler, younger version of Sansa’s mother appeared in her mind, her gaze moved swiftly away from the advancing procession, barely sparing a glance to the two White Cloaks following, to look back towards the throne.

She found the king first, his eyes fixed on his son (though _not_ for the same reasons as most of the women in the assembly). While his smile had widened, the look he gave didn’t give a vibe of ‘ _paternal affection_ ’ for his son and grandchildren.

Having spent more than enough time on King Crazy, her eyes shifted to then find Ginger Man, standing just to the right of Aerys. His previous scowl had dimmed, his eyes also locked on the prince. _His_ gaze was much more in line with those of the ladies of court.

As for Stannis, his dark blue eyes also followed the procession, but unlike the two other men, his face was a blank canvas, revealing no emotion.

In the several weeks they had gotten to know each other, Sansa had come to realise Stannis was not great in interacting with women. Or anyone for that matter. In the same way, she also knew that his first marriage had held little success, with failings on both sides.

Up until today, a large part of Sansa had speculated that losing both his parents and becoming lord so young had forced Stannis to focus on ‘his duty’, leading to him not growing up, learning to interact with others and maturing through puberty like other teenagers.

Now she couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, it had been the heartbreak of _her_ rejection  – of the person never mentioned within Storm's End’s walls - that had forced him to retreat to his all consuming _duty_. Or at least had been the ultimate precursor to his harsh sense of responsibility and righteousness. Even more worrying was the possibility that, following the pain of Lyanna Stark’s rebuff, the news of her death had been the ‘ _final nail of the coffin’_ , as it were. The suffering and grief had been so great – too great – the fear of reliving such agony had locked him into his duty.

 

=

 

The memory came to him as he watched Prince Rhaegar move forward.

Stannis saw him once more, ahorse, his black plate gleaming with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him as he rode toward the pavilion—

“ _Our_ ‘fair’ _prince has finally deigned us worthy of his presence_...”

The king’s grating voice jarred him back to the here and now. They were in the Throne Room. The _Silver Prince_ was not on his destrier, but with his family, all having bowed solemnly moments ago to their liege father and grandfather.

 “... you weren’t quick about answering your king’s summons. You took so long I began to wonder if you would come at all. Viserys was disappointed. Daenerys even more so. At least they had their cousin to reassure them. _He_ came promptly when summoned. As did all my lords. But no, my son thinks a king’s command is but another pretty song to listen to when the mood strikes him.”

Stannis resisted any possible raising of his eyebrows, remaining silent. It wouldn’t do to point out that Aerys had been disgruntled by Stannis’ ‘late arrival’ as well. Nor would it benefit to call attention to the fact that he had only seen either of the royal siblings - his _‘cousins_ ’ - but once, and that both were currently absent, as the king continued to be overly protective of his younger children.

 

_They are not the only ones absent_ , the image of blue roses reminded him _._

Lyanna was not by the prince’s side. Nor was she sitting next to Stannis a crown of winter roses on her lap.

 

As His Grace spoke other undermining nothings to his heir, Stannis’ gaze shifted the briefest amount to the youngest prince. He was all Stark; – _all his mother_. His eyes returning to the front, Stannis couldn’t help but wonder what the boy would have looked like if he had been _his_ son; if Lyanna had done her duty and they had wed, as arranged and promised by her lord-father. Mayhaps, she would also be alive, instead of cold in the northern castle’s crypts.

Women of all ages died on the birthing bed it was true. Nevertheless, Lyanna had been _young_ when Rhaegar had taken her for himself. At least Stannis had the decency to agree to wait till her sixteenth nameday to wed her. He could still recall, even now, her slim frame, and the traces of youth present on her face.

Truthfully, while Stannis remembered the Stark girl having a certain wildness - akin to the Northern heir - that should have been tempered early on, it still surprised him that the _crown_ _prince_ had acted so rashly. Growing up, he had always thought Rhaegar to be of a calmer disposition than his father. Dutiful, more restrained, he appeared to have the late queen’s temperament rather than the king’s. Stannis had even thought Rhaegar was closer to _himself_ – his own sense of duty – with his interest in books and history that Stannis’ own brother had scoffed at early on.  And yet, the fact remained that the crown prince – though already married – _had_ stolen another man’s betrothed and had wedded and bedded her while she had still been on the cusp of womanhood. The act surpassed Prince[ Duncan](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Duncan_Targaryen)’s, when he had broke his betrothal to Lord[ Lyonel Baratheon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lyonel_Baratheon)’s daughter for a common born girl, for which the heir had lost his position and excluded from the line of succession.

It was only by chance and fortune that Stannis’ sense of justice, duty and service to his liege was unwavering. Had he been a less level-headed man, he would most likely have followed his great-grandfather’s example and renounced his fealty to the Iron Throne and declared himself[  the next Storm King](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Storm_King) for the slight to his House. The ensuing rebellion would most likely not have been as short or as bloodless as his forefather’s.**

 

His eyes flickered through the throng, to land on Eddard, his face hard under his close-cropped beard; time, duty, and hardship had melted all the softness from him. Not far was Lord Tully, time undoubtedly marked his face, with his beard and hair more grey than their natural red...

_Tully-red_.

Without thought, his gaze moved to the gallery then. And his eyes found her; her cascade of auburn Tully hair restrained in a golden net. She looked radiant in her golden silks and lace.   A woman grown.

Images of the previous evening flickered in Stannis mind, warming his blood. _A woman wedded and bedded_.

 

Sansa was not looking towards him, though. Stannis felt the faint tightening of his jaw. Her eyes were on the Silver Prince. Did she think him as beautiful and gallant as many other maidens did?

But her mismatched eyes gave nothing away. Instead they soon shifted to the son Lyanna had given the dragon prince.

If things had happened as intended, Stannis would have had his heir by now. Lyanna might still be alive. If so, Stannis would have treated her with the respect due to a highborn lady, to his wife, to the mother of his children. He would not have neglected his vows, or shared her with another... or others. Besides, Eddard would have been there as well, within Storm's End’s walls, caring for his sister and nephews.

But now Stannis had a second wife, and still no son.

As Sansa’s eyes continued to linger on the young prince, Stannis felt his stomach flip as his eyes instinctively went to the flat stomach, a realisation crashing through him. _Mayhaps we made him last night_.

True, they had only done their duty once, but once was enough for some.

Stannis couldn’t help but wonder if she had grasped the same from where she stood. Were her thoughts of what their son would mayhaps look like? Wondering if he would have his dark hair, or her auburn locks? The boy would be tall in any case. While the Blackfish was still tall, and lean, his lord-brother had been even taller and broader, strong in his prime. Baratheons were more so; even Robert’s bastard was a few inches taller in the chest and shoulders to Lord Hoster’s heir, though the former was not yet six whilst the latter was already eight.

... _Or mayhaps she thinks of the birthing bed; women’s battle_? Not only Lyanna had died as such, but also Sansa’s lady mother and the late-queen—

“It is a king’s duty to punish the disloyal and reward those who are true.”

Aerys voice came out louder this time, as if its purpose was to remind Stannis of what was to happen at any moment.

“...Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read my decrees.”

 

Stannis felt his body stiffen the slightest amount. _Aye. It is time_.

 

=

 

Still taking in the even lovelier welcome Crazy King had given his family, Sansa watched ‘Herbert-with-a-beard’ did as he was bid, and pushed himself to his feet. From a drooping sleeve, he drew a parchment, unrolled it. He cleared his throat and read.

“In the place of the late Lord Symond Staunton it is the wish of His Grace that Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, be seated upon his small council as his Master of Law to oversee the[ law and justice](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Law_and_justice) for the kingdom that he may help him rule wisely and with righteousness. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.”

 

It was only once Lord Jon stepped forward and bowed to his king accepting the office before moving back to his original position, that the king gave a slight wave of the hand and ‘Herbert-with-a-beard’ returned to the reading scroll.

“In the place of Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost, it is the wish of His Grace that Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, take up the office of Hand of the King—”

Sansa felt her stomach drop, her insides freezing, only dimly aware of the old maester continuing, his voice now only a dull hum in her ears “... _to speak with his voice, lead his armies against his enemies, and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The small council consents._ ”

She barely noticed the several glances that momentarily swung her way. It was all she could do but to force her face to stay passively looking straight on. She could only watch as Stannis stepped forward and bowed to Aerys. As if she had known this would happen. That she – _of course_ – _knew_ that _her_ _husband_ was to become Crazy King’s right ‘ _Hand’_ man.

She was only half aware of soft murmuring from the lords around her, but it was quickly stilled. Grand Maester Pycelle moved to a still kneeling Stannis and fastened the large gold pin to his black jerkin.

 

As Stannis righted himself, Aerys’ voice soft as silk carried the whole length of the hall. “May you be my shield, my stalwart, my strong right hand.”***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- ‘Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.
> 
> ** - Yes: I couldn't help the not-so-subtle hint to Robert’s Rebellion and all the other wars and deaths that ensued from it. ;P
> 
> *** - King Aegon I Targaryen, after the first few victories, Aegon proclaimed Orys Baratheon to be - “... _My shield, my stalwart, my strong right hand._ ” - Because of Aegon's description, Orys is regarded to have been the first Hand of the King. => Most of the lords in attendance will have gotten the historic reference.


	36. PART III, Chapter 6 – Family, Old and New, Close and Distant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following on after the Dragonstone arrival and Hand-ship announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers! Sorry it took longer than usual to update, I was sorting out life stuff as well as the several next chapters... Hopefully, it being a rather long chapter, will make up for some of the wait ;P
> 
> I also send out another HUGE thank you to [Sarah_Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/gifts) for being amazing and beta-reading most of this (and future) chapters :D
> 
> Hope you all like x

 

 

At her cousin’s call, Shireen’s little feet padded across the rough sand. Her head and small body knelt down next to Edric’s already crouching form, all the more ready to inspect the hidden treasures the five year-old was uncovering.

Soft waves coming in and seagulls swooping down in search for their own bounty, were the only other sounds, aside from the two children’s joyful exclamations and Darcy’s barks.

Scanning the shore line, Sansa watched several birds scurrying along the sand, before they flew away in a panicked – or irritated - flutter as the four-legged _‘beast’_ charged upon them. Behind both would-be-prey and their hunter, the water lapped against the shore; the tide blanketed over the ever-wet sand before slowly retreating once more, towards the deeper waters. A humourless huff escaped Sansa. _Just like my ‘marriage’_. One step forward only to be thwarted a step back; _locked in its own eternal dance of repetition_ —

Another squeal of delight broke through. Shireen’s childish giggles filled the surrounding space, as Edric presented a tiny crab to his cousin.

For a brief moment, Sansa wondered if Shireen had ever, in her three years in her father’s castle, visited the beaches beneath of the cliffs of Storm's End, either with Sarra or her mother. Would Stannis have joined such an excursion?

 _Probably not_.

 

Shaking her head, sighing heavily, Sansa forced the musings away. At least Shireen appeared to have forgotten all of this morning's events. Of her nightmares. Of the _scary dragons_ – those dead and those alive. Of court. Of her elusive father.

A pang of jealousy ran through Sansa, wishing _she_ could also, so easily and so innocently push all these troubles from her mind.

This morning had drained Sansa. She had found herself in need of escape; a moment’s peace to recharge before she would be forced to face king, court and husband.

Perhaps it was cowardly of her. _Yeah_ , it probably was. Nevertheless, for all her ‘ _brave Northern blood_ ’, Sansa did not have the patience or inclination to deal with any of it right now. Not the ladies; not even Jocelyn. Not her ‘ _family’_ ; her ‘ _father’_ and his talk of the Tully House and of his deceased wife, or Cat’s incessant chatter of ‘ _great honour_ ’, ‘ _great fortune_ ’, and whatever else the king’s recent decrees apparently meant. Even spending time with Edmure would prove tiresome. He was reaching that age where the innocence of childhood began to fade, replaced by a little lord, full of himself and his own ideas on matters of the realm and how they should be treated.

She was even reluctant to face Brynden. Brynden who spoke with Sansa the most, who was her greatest source of information in the going-ons of the keep and the realm beyond— _and yet, he failed to mention_ this. _Failed_ to warn her of what today would really be about.

It’s not like he hadn’t known: there had been no surprise on _his_ face during the king’s announcements. On the other hand, Sansa still felt the buzzing in her ears, the numbness of her mind, being barely aware as the tall, dark form that was her _husband_ returning to his spot with a large golden pin added his black jerkin. She had paid even less attention to Aerys suggesting to _Gingerman_ that he return to his keep and follow his liege’s directive, and whatever else _King Crazy_ thought to say to his princely-son and the rest of court.

With great uncertainty - _clumsiness_ \- Sansa had let her handmaidens and guards mindlessly guide Shireen and her, once the ceremony had concluded, whilst her husband had dutifully followed after his king to do Gods-know-what. To add insult to injury, once outside the Throne Room, Sansa had been led to the Tower of the Hand, not the Maidenvault. Inside and upwards, Sansa had found all her possessions already moved and perfectly arranged in her new accommodations; rooms larger and even more lavish than her previous ones. _By the Gods, the maids knew before me of my husband’s ‘promotion’_.

So instead, disappointment... confusion... worry... betrayal... panic: all these remained her companions through the day. Along with the constant replay of King Crazy’s smile, his announcement meaning an inevitable lengthened stay in King's Landing.

Did all Dragon Age brides find their marriages as difficult and tiresome as her? Leaving them with mind-numbing headaches, hurt in their chests and distress in the pit of their stomachs? _No..._ They most likely found it to be _normal_. They were probably ready for their husband or whichever lord reigned over them to inform them of only the bare minimum. Ready to do their husbands’ bidding, no matter how much it undoubtedly affected their own life.

 

 _So, yeah.._. Only the simplicity and innocence of children would do at the moment.

While, she wouldn’t have minded a moment with Princess Daenerys, Sansa doubted Shireen and herself would be called on today. The young princess had her family to spend time with now, whilst they settled in Maegor's Holdfast— _that is_ , if her nutcase of a father allowed it.

So, as soon as possible, Sansa had left her new chambers and had made good on her own promises: the children and her had visited the white raven in the rookery. The surprisingly intelligent bird had bowed to her and then to Shireen, croaking _‘Lady_ ’ to the both, before giving a bow to Edric.

Unfortunately, even this rather innocent experience had been dampened with _Not-Hubert_ giving his own low bows to the ‘ _new Lord Hand’s wife and heir’_ (as well as giving Sansa a few not-all-that-discreet leers).

Even now, on this secluded beach, Sansa couldn’t fully escape it all. The stiff shadows she could feel— she could _see_ , just in the corner of her eye. Her handmaidens ready to do Lady _Baratheon_ ’s bidding. The sentries, a few steps behind, wearing their customary _black_ and _gold_. The tall knight standing unmoving and forbiddingly, his white cloak separating him from the rest.

Sansa wasn’t even bothered to wonder why one of only _seven_ kingsguard had been placed on her and Shireen. Instead, she foolishly tried once more to clear her mind of the insecurities and insanities of kings, of the stares and whispers of court, of husbands and their creative interpretations of a marriage.

 

The sun moved on the horizon... The birds squawked at each other and possible preys below... The children started building something in the sand with Darcy constantly running into it (Sansa unsure if involuntarily)...

A fair bit of time passed before the muffled sound of heavy boots against sand was heard.

Sansa turned to find Eddard coming towards her. He looked much his usual self, sombre and reserved. Yet, as his eyes met Sansa’s, the calm silver seemed softer; concerned?… _saddened_?

Then again, perhaps it was her own troubles that Sansa was projecting onto her ancestor.

Or, it was her own smile that incited wariness from the Northerner. Not Sansa’s customary warm welcome, its sincerity held only to a certain extent. Foolish as it may be, a large part of Sansa was ready to blame Eddard, nearly as much as the true guilty party, for her husband’s lack of communication, lack of commitment to their marriage, lack of sense...

Still, she couldn’t well blame others for Stannis’ failings. He was a grown man. A _stubborn, uncommunicative_ grown man.

 

She stood as he drew closer.

“Eddard, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Do you not have duties to attend to?” _Like my husband_.

As the questions left her lips, Sansa actually briefly wondered if Eddard was, in fact, currently doing a task. If Stannis had sent him to either check if she was in need of anything, or check on her safety… _or has he sent for me_?

The slight jolt of hope was quickly squashed down. _No_ , Stannis knew her maids diligent enough for the first, and the guards and white cloak ready enough for the second. As for sending for her, Sansa was certain Stannis would have sent a squire or lesser knight for the task; not his closest friend.

Following her as she started to slowly walk the length of the bank, Eddard replied with a soft smile, “I found my duties completed my lady, so I thought to ensure that Edric had not yet convinced Lady Shireen to go find a secret passage to _Diagon Alley_ or _Hogsmeade_.”

Her smile more genuine, Sansa couldn’t help but let out her first laugh since this morning. “Not yet thankfully. I have already reminded both, though, that magical traits only make themselves known around a person’s eleventh nameday.”

“Aye, I evoked a similar notion not too recently. Still, it did not stop Edric from asking Ser Davos where he could purchase an owl last only yesterday.”

Sansa blinked before looking over at the two small figures crouching in the sand. “He wants an owl? - But the rockery is full of ravens.”

Eddard’s cheer dimmed slightly, his gaze following hers. “Ser Davos said the same. Never seen the man as confused as when he relayed that Edric replied by pointing out that a raven would have a keep as its destination, whilst an owl was smarter and would go straight to the intended recipient.”

Noticing Sansa’s further confusion, Eddard expanded, “Ser Robert visited him yesterday before riding south.”

It was then that Sansa remembered Edric mentioning Robert Baratheon earlier. Too engrossed into her own troubles, she hadn’t thought much on the matter. Now, while she was glad to learn the wayward father had visited his son before leaving, Sansa couldn't help but wonder if her _brother-in-law_ ’s gesture would prove more beneficial or detrimental in the long run. Edric mentioned his ‘ _warrior father_ ’ enough times already, even without receiving any actual encouragement in return. His eagerness to learn to read and write was just as much to be able to read stories for himself, as it was to write to his father of his accomplishments (and never receiving replies). _Are all Baratheon men incapable of forming healthy familial relationships_?

Realising that they had fallen into a heavy silence, Sansa looked to see Eddard’s grey eyes still on Edric. He seemed to at least share some of her thoughts; there was a mixture of anger - most likely aimed at the wayward parent - and sorrow - for the son.

An image of Jaenerys – _Jon_ – Targaryen popped into her mind then. Sansa’s smile dimmed further. She easily recalled the countless times Eddard had mentioned, or given hints, of his nephew. Unlike certain Stormlanders, she could only assumed _he_ was now all the more eager to see the young prince, but most likely had yet had the chance to.  Perhaps Eddard had come here as an escape of sorts as well - a distraction from his own elusive demons.

 

Wanting to divert them both of certain dragons or stags, Sansa asked with more enthusiasm than she actually felt, “And what of you Eddard? - Any news of the North?”

Mentioning his homeland did the trick. Eddard let out a soft chuckle, “Aye, received another letter detailing my father’s growing despair for my brothers. Benjen wishes to join the Night’s Watch now more than ever. As for Brandon, he apparently took off on a tour of the land without informing anyone. Father had thought him on a hunting trip until Brandon did not return for several days…”

They continued to talk all while strolling along the shore. Eddard relating his brothers’ antics. Sansa, in turn, sharing stories of growing up with Jon, Stann, and Arya. Talking of the land she secretly missed just as much helped calm her as him.

 

**.**

 

Of course such a moment of true escape was just that: a _moment_.

It wasn’t a squire or lesser knight that came in the end, but a royal messenger. Apparently His Grace had the ‘ _wonderful_ ’ idea of a ‘ _family dinner’_ , one which his nephew, with wife and daughter, were _of course_ invited to. On the other hand - although, he was uncle to one of the princes - the invitation had not been extended to Eddard. If anything, Sansa would have preferred being in Eddard’s shoes than her own.

And with good reason. Part of Sansa was convinced Aerys main aim for the evening was to win the prize for organising the ‘ _Most Awkward Family Dinner Ever_ ’. They were literally all there: the crazy grandfather, the son and his wife with their kids... as well as the kid the son had with another woman, the younger less-good-looking brother who didn’t seem used to being around people, and the sister more than two decades younger than the eldest... _And_ let's not forget the cousin the family rarely saw, with his own (second) wife, child and problems … _Oh_ , and who happened to be the ex-fiancé of his first cousin’s youngest son’s mother. _This could literally be the Thanksgiving Episode to any of the American soaps Aunt Branda loves to watch_.

Only two appeared actually happy with the dinner. One was _King Crazy_. And the other was Prince Viserys. Clearly not one for reading a room, the teenager spent most of the meal enthusiastically asking his older brother questions about nothing and everything.

On the other hand, surrounded by so many at once - or possibly just being in her father’s scary presence - Princess Daenerys remained silent. (An example which her table companions, Shireen and Prince Jon, seemed more than ready to follow.)

As for Prince Rhaegar: he spoke only when spoken to, and tended to keep his replies short.

The same could be said of Stannis. Though Sansa swore she felt his eyes on her more than once, each time she looked over at his end of the table, she found him his stiff formal self, listening or answering the king’s remarks, while his general demeanour and discomfited posture, made it rather obvious that, like most of them, he would rather be a million other places but _here_.

 

“ _We should have a tourney..._ ”

Inciting the third twitch of Stannis’ jaw this evening, the announcement was obviously made by Aerys. It was only the latest of several rather ill-chosen remarks spread throughout the evening (the first one having been asking Prince Rhaegar if he had yet visited the capital’s newest brothel-keeper’s establishment).

There might have been a slight flicker in Prince Rhaegar’s violet eyes. Though, there was a chance it was but a trick from the candlelight. On the other hand, seated right next to Sansa, the small clench of Princess Elia’s grip around her fork was unmistakable. As expected, this only added to Sansa’s already uncomfortable state; not only from the evening and King Crazy, but of Sansa remembering her history classes (and films) delving into the Dornish princess’ horrible death… and those of her two children.

“... _a celebration of House Targaryen_ …”

 

Sansa suppressed the king’s voice from her mind, and kept herself oblivious to either Prince Rhaegar or Stannis’ replies in return. She decided to distract the princess as well as herself.

“Have you settled in your rooms, Your Grace?”

“Yes, thank you, my lady. In truth, the rooms were kept much as we had left them; it feels like no time has passed since our last visit,” she smiled, her gaze demure. “I understand this is your first visit to the capital?”

“Yes indeed. I am still getting used to it all. There is so much… so much to take in. I have never seen anything quite like it.”

With a soft smile, the princess offered, “I would be happy to indicate the more interesting parts of the city to you.”

The rest of the talk progressed through bland, generic chit-chat, Sansa’s aim accomplished. Thankfully, just as they seemed about to expire on all topics - with Princess Rhaenys having added one or two comments - the meal finally rolled to a conclusion and _King Crazy_ dismissed them.

Yet, relief and unease continued to mix within Sansa. She watched Stannis rise from his own chair, this time certain that his gaze flickered to her.before his attention returned towards the king.

Then again, the unease came to naught. Her self-conscious wondering on how to greet her Stannis for the first time since last night, since he became _Hand_ , proved a futile exercise. Whilst others made the obligatory bows and farewells, his attention was pulled to the king, His Grace was quick to requisition her husband from Sansa once more.

As such, Sansa and Shireen retired to their new chambers alone - or, more exactly, with only their guards for company.

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

In spite of his tiredness, both his mind and body weary, Stannis hastened up the many steps of the Tower to his private chambers. The quickness in his step was justified: he was not only eager to reach his rooms, but also to speak with his wife. Being something he had not had a chance to do since last eve, Stannis found himself impatient to assure himself that she was well since having done her duty.

During supper, Stannis noted the pallor of her cheeks. Even her comportment was much more unassuming than usual. Naturally, such behaviour was to be expected in presence of the royal family. Yet, with a few words from Eddard earlier, Stannis was concerned it was more than mere anxiety; _Sansa was mayhaps worried her demeanour and efforts do not reflect well enough on me, as my bride_. If this proved to be the case, Stannis would be quick to inform her she had acted most befittingly of a high born lady – her manner meeting all his expectations of a wife...

… _Just as she met them last nigh_ t.

His step faltered, slowing to a near stop. Stannis considered the possibility that mayhaps Sansa thought herself already with child. Her gaze had fallen on the royal children several times. Just as it had lingered on Prince Jaenaerys during the assembly this morning.

His march resumed. Whilst it was true that once could prove enough, it certainly did not have great odds.

 _Aye_ , for assurance, they would have to do their duty several more times.

 

With only a brief interlude in his chambers, Stannis soon progressed to the adjoining door. He knocked, and entered.

His gaze travelled the span of the new accommodations, to finally land on his wife.

Sansa was seated at her dressing table, her hair unbound. Glowing in the candlelight, Stannis felt a brief twitch, realising it had already been brushed. Still, he was relieved to note not only the absence of her maids, but studying her further, recognized her garment as the lighter – somewhat translucent – nightgown she had worn yesterday. The notion was well met.

She must have heard him enter - or mayhaps felt his perusal - as Sansa turned in her chair, her eyes quickly finding his. He knew, immediately, that her mood had not improved since she had retired. If anything it seemed to have worsened. The lady looking at him appeared troubled… _upset_?

 

Uncertain how to proceed, Stannis took a few more tentative steps, and greeted her, “Sansa.”

She smoothed her skirts as she stood, before her hands clasped together, but remained silent. His jaw twitching, Stannis continued, “I trust your new lodgings are acceptable?”

After the briefest perusal of the room, her mitchated eyes reverted back to him. A slow nod followed.

His fingers tightened around the small box in his hand, by his side. He found himself uncertain what to say next as her silence persisted.

“I thought to—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Taken back by the interruption as well as the quietness of her voice, it took a moment for the words to register. Stannis frowned. His mind searched for any possible piece of news he had failed to deliver. None came to mind.

His puzzlement must have shown though. Her eyes narrowed, ire shining within them as if he was being the difficult one.

She faced him head on. “That you were to become _Hand_ of the _King_. That _was_ a rather significant event. Possibly the most significant event of the day, _no_? ” Her arms swept the length of the room – her new chambers – as if to press the point further, before her eyes focused on him once more. “What _else_ would I be talking about?”

Affront charging rampant through him, Stannis retorted through his teeth, “I was only informed of the honour this morning, _my lady_.”

She blinked. Stannis held back his satisfaction that the reply had not been expected.

That was, before her brow creased and her eyes narrowed yet again. “His Grace informed you _this_ morning?”

Stannis gave a stiff nod, “ _Aye_ ,” readying for her apology.

All the same, her stance did not slacken. If anything she tensed further. “And you had _no idea_ of His Grace’s possible plans to bestow this... _honour_? You were caught _completely_ off guard when he asked _this morning_ , during the Small Council meeting?”

Stannis blinked, his jaw loosening and his brows rising. The next moment, he felt his insides tighten. With a less assured nod than previously, he acknowledged that there had been hints and rumours. “But nothing had been certain.”

Sansa relented, “Surely it was more than idle speculation, Stannis? More than a few... _rumours_ between two gossips. In the hall this morning, Lord Connington was clearly _angry_ , but not _surprised_. Prince Rhaegar - straight off his boat – didn’t seem caught unawares by the news. Half the court had already accepted the truth even before the king had that... _thing_ pinned on you.” She pointed shakily at the Hand’s golden brooch fastened to his jerkin.

Processing her words, Stannis acknowledged that there _had_ been more than _mentions_. Sansa’s own uncle had blatantly informed Stannis of the possibility of Handship on his arrival at Storm's End.

 _But surely_... What did she expect? Did she believe he would share such critical matters with her? What did she know of the realm; her, a young woman, raised in a motherhouse, aspiring to be a silent sister? _By the Seven, we only affirmed our vows last night_.

Unfortunately, given previous conversations they had shared, Stannis doubted Sansa would welcome such an answer.

“The matter was delicate; a crucial one. I thought it best only to inform you until I was certain.”

Momentarily closing her eyes, a slight sigh at her lips, Sansa replied, “ _Yes_ , I understand the need for a certain amount of caution, but in doing so, _I_ was completely caught off guard. It couldn’t have been that much of a secret: half of court knew before me. There is also the fact that with it, _you knew_ of the high possibility that we would be staying _here_ – in King's Landing – for a prolonged, undefined amount of time, and you didn’t think to _warn me_ at least of that.”

Stannis swiftly pushed back the strange warmth at her use of ‘ _we_ ’, to correct her, “Of course your stay will not be extended further than needs be. Most of the household, the children and yourself, will be sent back at the earliest possible moment.”

Unfortunately the statement seemed to have the opposite effect, as Sansa jerked backwards, her gaze turning confused and… _wounded_? Her voice fainter and unsteady, she whispered, “You are sending me— _us_ away?”

Stannis suppressed the strange unease the question provoked. Surely she understood the city was not safe. His throat tight, Stannis gave a firm nod, “ _Aye_. As soon as you are with child.”

Lashes fluttered several times, before she looked down, to her hands linked together. Her voice stronger, yet strange, she asked, “is… is that the real reason you came tonight? To try for your h-heir once more?”

There was no point in denying it; once was not enough.

“Yes, my lady. I also wanted to ensure that you were... _well_ after last night.” Her eyes rose to meet his, and he lifted and extended the small wooden box he had nearly forgotten he was holding. “And I thought to… give you this.”

She only stared, her gaze uncertain, flicking between Stannis and the box. He decided to advance. Unfortunately his step became inexplicably heavy, his movements and words just as clumsy, as Stannis tried to open the box.

“On our last night on the road... in the inn... After receiving your bridal gift, I realised I had been remiss in giving you a marriage token… I had to wait till we arrived in the capital to commission it. Then, given last night, I had planned to present it to you last night... or this morning but... _impediments_ got in the way... of things...”

 

=

 

Although still hurt and upset, Sansa felt some of her dismay towards Stannis dispel as she watched in interest the small box in his hands. The jumble of words and his general fluster made the whole thing even more intriguing…

Of course in a moment of hysteria - proving further how trying the day had been - her mind conjured a vision of Brad Pitt in the film _Seven_ , yelling- repeating over and over again ‘ _What's in the box? WHAT’S IN THE BOX?_ ’. In all honesty, Sansa really _did_ want to know what was it the box. She was becoming more and more tempted to howl out the question, given that Stannis was taking an inexplicably long time to open it. (At least, she could rest assured that the box was far too small to fit a woman's head in it.)

 

Finally there was a _click_ and the box opened. Stannis retrieved a small object, which gleamed as the candlelight hit it…

 _A ring_. Since Stannis had moved much closer as he continued to speak, Sansa could discern the gold band and a large black stone.

“... I thought it appropriate... as you have gained a husband… and a new family – one that will hopefully grow – to give you a new ring. A symbol of your new House...”

Indeed, there, in the centre of the black stone, a stag stood, carved within—

“– it is not to replace your father’s ring, only to add to it.”

At the remark, her right hand automatically went to the ring dangling from her neck. _Dad’s ring_. Ever since her failed attempt to return to the future, Sansa more often than not kept it on a chain around her neck, rather than on her finger. It was one of her many little ways of coping with the knowledge that she would most likely never go home.

But now, while her fingers lightly held both the chain and her father’s ring, Sansa’s eyes were fixed on the one Stannis presented. Her left hand reached for it, but she stopped herself right before touching it.

“Would you like to try it on?”

Eyes flickering up to meet Stannis’, Sansa took in the tiniest of breaths, clearing her throat. “I… Yes, I would like that very much.”

Her answer was clearly what Stannis had hoped. He let out a small sigh, before he reached for her hand, and carefully slipped the golden band onto her fourth finger.

Eyes fixed on the ring, they travelled from the small stag, standing proud and tall with an impressive span of antlers, to the etchings in the gold of the band itself. On one side were two large flowers, both with a multitude of petals. Sansa was pretty sure they were peonies. On the other side were four more flowers. _Violets_. This times Sansa was certain. However, the small leaves, oval in shape, arranged alternatively on two wiry stems, following the whole length of the ring, linking stone and the engraved flowers together, remained a mystery.*

Sansa whispered down at it, “it’s… it’s beautiful,” finally letting go of the chain, for her fingers to trail over both the stag and the etchings.

 

Looking back up, she found Stannis looking at her, his face a cross between concern and relief.

“Thank you, Stannis.” And without thinking the matter over, Sansa took a small step forward, her right hand going to his chest for leverage, and gave him a soft peck on the lips, followed by a second softer, “ _thank you,_ ” as her lips brushed his.

Her kiss was evidently over faster than Stannis would have liked, though, as his mouth pursued her own while she retreated; a silent demand for _more_.

Yet, his action spurred Sansa back to reality. Back to their previous discussion. Her palm pushed against his chest, stopping any advance on his part, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Stannis... the gift was very thoughtful, but I… as you said yourself, I have gained a husband, a new family, a new House, and yet I still constantly end up feeling like I am not fully included - accepted - in this new life, in _your life_.”

Noting his mouth opening, her hand pressed further into his hard chest (ignoring the warmth radiating from it), and willed her voice to be stronger. “Only yesterday we had a disagreement— a _misunderstanding_ , one which could have foolishly escalated because you had not think to tell me that you were giving me time… _to myself_ , and with my family; that you weren’t just avoiding me for the sake of it. In the same way that you did not care to inform me - or even Shireen and Edric - that your _brother_ was here. As I stated yesterday, I want to be _your_ wife as I want you to be _my_ husband.  I...” Sansa’s cheeks warmed other images of yesterday coming forward. “I-I do not regret last night. It was... _nice_... certain parts were _p-pleasant_. But I really do not want to find myself regretting sharing myself with you, because of your incapability to meet me halfway... in sharing things with each other.”

As her statement ended, his larger hand covered hers. Looking back up, Sansa found Stannis’ dark blue eyes staring straight at her, penetrating into her own.

“Sansa, I put _you_ under my cloak and vowed to protect _you_ , as I pledged myself to you. I gave my word that I would care and provide for you, as is my duty as your lord husband. I am willing to share- _share more_ with you, but I cannot promise to share _all_. I _am_ _your_ husband Sansa, and I do expect that, in certain matters, _you_ will trust my judgement.”

Sansa blinked. To head give a soft, slightly uncertain, nod.

It wasn’t _exactly_ what she wanted to hear, but at least he was being honest. And he was going to try. They were both trying, in their own way: him, a big, muscly lord with a more modern-thinking wife than he realised, and her, a 20 th Century, eighteen year-old trying to make the most of her second - and already _very serious_ \- relationship. _Isn’t marriage all about compromise_? From what she already knew of her Lord Big and Muscly this was in all likelihood more compromise than he would otherwise do.

 

Uncomfortable silence fell between them, as if neither of them was sure what to do or say next. Twenty-one seconds passed before Stannis’ voice, lower and softer than usual, broke through, “Sansa... last night... was... is there still soreness?”

Blinking several times, she was first reminded of his response, earlier, about getting her pregnant before shipping her off to Storm's End. But he had also said, just now that he would care for her. From his words and actions, even his attention last night – _before_ and _after_ they ‘ _did their duty’_ \- she believed he _did_ care; he was genuinely concerned about her wellbeing. Perhaps it was just her own foolish hopefulness, but Sansa believed it.

Heat rising in her cheeks, she looked down at his hand still covering her own. “N-not much.”

It was the truth, surprisingly. While the memory of the pain still had her weary– possibly even _scared_ , she now only felt the last lingering soreness between her legs.

 

With her whispered words, they fell once more in a moment of silence, neither saying anything. Sansa had a pretty good idea what Stannis wanted to say- _suggest_ though. _He is a man after all, even without duty or wanting a son, what red-blooded man doesn’t want sex_?

 _He is also the same man as yesterday, and the days before_ , Sansa reminded herself. Her room was different. She was also perhaps somewhat different. But he was the same. He had been careful last night.

Even if the actual… _sex_ had been painful.

Even if she was aware of the _largeness_ of him even now as well as the accompanying apprehension—

 _No_ , she would not think of that now. She would focus on _other bits_ , the bits she _did_ like.

Her eyes met Stannis’ darker ones, _I like him_.

 _Yes_. While he could be rather bossy, controlling, demanding, uncommunicative— _the list goes on_ , Sansa _did_ like _him_. Which was why she had slept with him yesterday. Which was why it had hurt as much as it did today, when she realised he hadn’t shared something so crucial with her—

Her head shook once more. _Focus on now_. _Just us_.

 

With a shaky breath, she looked up at him. His jerkin, while still on, was already unbuttoned, her palm pressed against the cotton shirt beneath. Running her hands over his shoulders, she pushed off the outer layer. Easing away from her, Stannis completed the action, letting it drop to the floor. Without guidance, he then tugged and pulled at the shirt, swiftly revealing his chest, broad shoulders, and abs.

 _Yes_ , she definitely, at least, liked _parts_ of him. With a hum of appreciation and intrigue, Sansa couldn’t help but place her hands once more on him and smooth them across the revealed flesh – a thin soft layer covering hard muscles beneath – and coarse hair, trailing down to his breeches.

She must had taken too long in her study as Stannis shifted closer, and, after the briefest pause, pressed his lips upon hers.

 _Yes_ , kisses she could also do. She liked kisses. Last night’s kisses had been nice _... more than nice_. And much like yesterday, this kiss soon turned more heated, their bodies pressing against each other.

Yet, all too soon, Sansa felt the tell-tale sign of his ‘ _readiness to do his duty’_. Panic rising once more, she couldn’t help but pull back. Much like she assumed she was, Stannis stood facing her, his breath coming out panting, his eyes dark, fixed on her. As if taking no notice of her slight retreat though, he quite suddenly - _jerking-ly_ \- removed her hands for his person, and took them in his larger ones, and – more delicately – pulled her forward, leading to the bed waiting for them. Once reached, Sansa scrambled between the sheets and lay down, her movements awkward and self-conscious.

She was so aware of her body; the blood rushing in her veins, the beating of her heart, the thrumming urgency of... _warmth_. Her neck and cheeks prickled. Her breasts became heavier – not making it any easier to breathe normally... Heat settled in the base of her belly, pulsing down to between her thighs, making her shift and press her thighs together, underneath the covers.

Stannis lay down alongside her. She was so aware of _his_ body. Candlelight played across him, creating shadows across his chest, burnishing the short dark hairs covering his smooth muscles.

The world contracted, becoming just the bed, candlelight and shadows, Stannis and her.

She had contemplated the idea of touching him with her mouth, licking him, tasting him in previous days– those last days on the road. Now the notion came back tenfold, so strong that Sansa couldn’t think of any reason not to. She found herself leaning forward, her hand going to his shoulder, and kissed his throat. Much like her own, his body was hot, his skin scorching hers beneath her palm. Her lips and tongue tasted the pulse in the hollow at the bottom of his neck.

She felt him swallow, his throat bob. His voice was deep, hoarse, as Stannis called her name, “ _Sansa_ ”, a mix of warning and uncertainty in his tone.

Yet, she kept on going. Her fingers clenched around hard male muscle, urging herself forward. A part of Sansa actually worried she wouldn’t be able to continue if she stopped. She did not want to think of the less enjoyable parts of last night; the pain... the messiness—

 _No_ , she liked the kissing, the touching...

A low, heavy growl came from deep within Stannis’ throat, Sansa feeling the vibrations transfer through her, and the next thing she knew - not entirely sure how she got there - she was on her back, Stannis pressing his large form above her. His hands held her face and waist. Her own hands shifted, gripping his arm and back tightly.

Sansa swallowed. Her breath was shallow, her heartbeat rapid, she followed as his hand brushed her hair out of the way. He bent his head. She felt warm breath against the nape of her neck. Lips touched her skin. The action was _gentle_ – even gentler then yesterday. Still, she was also acutely aware of the rest of his body pressed against her. Of his other hand resting on her ribcage. Stannis’ fingers burned through the thin linen of the nightgown. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, as they started to roam lower, across her belly.

A voice in the back of her mind whispered, reminding her, “ _it’s only supposed to hurt once_ ”.

All the same, Sansa drew in a sharp breath. Even through his breeches, she could feel his... _thing_ , just as large as the rest of him, pressing into her. She remembered, even as warmth continued to travel down between her legs, of him above her last night, pressing down as he pierced through her... moving in her, faster and faster...

And yet, the feel of him also triggered a clenching sensation low in her belly. Even as his other hand moved from her stomach, down past her hip, starting to push her nightgown out of the way, Sansa didn’t only feel anxiety. _I want him_. The desire—the _want_ was there. The feverish heat built in her body. Both her breasts ached, the lace of her bra and her chemise chafing her nipples. Her underwear was probably ruined from all the dampness between her legs...

With effort, she called out, “a moment.”

His fingertips halted on her inner thigh, just underneath her gown. Sansa heard a low, strangled sound, before Stannis lifted his head, his dark eyes – black in the candlelight – met hers with a penetrating stare. He whispered hoarsely, “I-it hurts?”

“N-no,” she quickly reassured him. Pushing him slightly from his shoulder and raising some herself, Sansa fumbled with the nightdress. It took so some effort, but with Stannis quickly catching on, the cumbersome item was pulled over her head.

Once the item dropped to the floor, Sansa looked back at Stannis. His own attention was fully focused on her. For several seconds he did nothing but stare at her, hovering over her, his eyes flickering more than once between her face, bra, stomach, panties... as if contemplating how to proceed... on which to focus on...

Nervousness building from his scrutiny, Sansa rose to press her chest against his own, hiding her body from his intense stare. Her lips met his, as her hands gripped him by the shoulders, and brought him back down above her.

Her actions evidently elicited a decision from him as Sansa soon felt Stannis hands soon find their previous spots. While deepening the kiss, one hand carefully held her cheek, whilst the other went once more to her hip. She felt his thumb and fingers slowly trail down the outer curve of her thigh, before holding- _tightening_ and pulling the leg level with his hip. Her heart raced forward, a fast, fluttery rhythm, as her body moved of its own accord, her legs and hips lifting, following his guidance.

She gasped slightly. She could feel _him_ now more distinctly than ever.

The voice from before whispered once more, “ _There is no way it will get better without practice_.”

Sansa forced herself to focus on their lips, on the kiss continuing, her tongue meeting his, even as she felt Stannis’ hand once more travelling to her inner thigh. His fingertips this time reached her underwear, eliciting a shiver from her. His fingers slid inside... inside _her_. Her throat hitched, her lips jerking involuntarily from his. His lips brushed hers, his hot breath caressed her, as she heard his voice, even more strained, “Any pain?”

Her breaths as shallow and erratic as his, she whispered, “N-no.”

He must have heard as his fingers withdrew, taking her panties with them. Her legs free of the lacy garment, Stannis shifted, and his body settled properly between her thighs. It was only then that Sansa became acutely aware of not only the solid weight of his body above her own, of the heat of his skin scorching hers, but realised, with a twinge of disappointment, that, like last night, he hadn’t properly remove his smallclothes, or even the time to remove her bra.

Instead, he seemed even more impatient to ‘ _get on with things_ ’. Before she could possibly voice her thoughts, his fingers were at her entrance again—and then she felt the head of his... of _him_.

Sansa tensed, instinctively bracing for pain. He must have felt her, as only the tip slid inside her before he halted. His body trembled. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no.”

There was a ragged breath, and a deep thrust. Sansa gasped, stiffened, her nails digging into his back, certain that the whole of him was now deep inside her. He stopped once more.

“ _P-pain_?” His voice was strained.

“N-no.”

Surprisingly, there was none. Instead, it was... _interesting_.

Sansa hadn’t felt much other than all his _largeness_ , _above her_ and _inside her_ yesterday. Her mind had zeroed in on feeling like she had literally been pierced through. _But now_... It was still rather _invasive_ (being definitely larger and longer than Sansa would have possibly liked) but it wasn’t _painful_.

It did also help that as Stannis started to move again, he went slower than last night. He had been in a rush to finish yesterday, but this time round Sansa was actually able to take note of things... of the feel of everything...

His hot breath caressed her neck as he carefully withdrew, before thrusting back inside her. Her own body responded willingly; her hips rising to meet him. She felt one of his arms, large and muscled, slide around her waist, pulling her closer. A sort of rhythm built between them. Even their breaths, ragged, seemed to merge in tune with each other, as the tempo rose steadily, and became more insistent. Her body was striving towards _something_. Rising urgency consumed her. Her fingers grasped, intertwining with his hair, and her nails dug further into his back as she held him closer. Her thighs tightened around him, rising higher on his hips. Her panting came closer together– _heavier_ , as his chest pressed further into her breasts and his movements intensified...

It built more and more, Sansa finding herself hoping above all else that he would not stop. She heard her own voice- sounding hoarse and strangled, calling for ‘ _more_ ’...—

The large bulk above her _jerked_. Several spasms made him rub further into her own body, as an accompanying groan rung in her ears, all while Sansa felt something spill inside her...

 

They lay panting, entwined. Stannis’ body continued to press into hers. His heartbeat reverberated inside her.

A surge of tenderness rose in her, her throat tightened. Her nails no longer digging into him, Sansa tentatively moved her hand across on his back. His skin burned. All to suddenly, Stannis brush his lips against her brow, and, the next moment, he pulled away, like he had done last night, sitting on the edge of the bed, his breathing slowly coming back to normal.

 

Of course with his absence, it was then that Sansa became aware of the large amount of _stuff_ slowly moving out of her.

Her nose scrunched. She reached for the nightgown, embarrassed by not only being fully naked in front of him but at the idea that he would see his... ‘ _man-seed_ ’ leak down her legs before she reached the bathroom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the closest examples to what I imagined the ring Stannis gave Sansa:
> 
> [ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/shortsandramblings/media/TIME%20ring_zps82ksfsii.jpg.html)
> 
> =
> 
> * - The three plants engraved on the ring are: four violets, two peonies, and thyme. **Violets** are a symbol for: Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness, modesty. **Peony** : Happy life, happy marriage. **Thyme** : Courage, strength.


	37. PART III, Chapter 7 - Strange Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Stannis get more familiar in their life in KL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another BIG thank you to [Sarah_Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/gifts) for looking over and helping/correcting this chapter.

 

 

“Would you care to look at the Myrish silks m’lady?”

Suppressing Stannis’ scowl from her mind, Sansa smiled at the merchant. “That would be lovely thank you.” Noticing strips of darkened leather, she quickly added, “Could I also have a look at your selection of leather; tanned dark blue if at all possible.”

Obliviously ready to make a large profit off her, the stout man gave a low bow, “Of course yer ladyship - we have a wide range of leathers - the finest in King’s Landing,” before rushing off to find the silks and ‘ _King’s Landing’s finest leathers_ ’.

 

Left to her own devices, Sansa looked over the shop to find Lady Jocelyn and Shireen both mesmerised by an array of gold and silverribbons. Her lips quirked then finding Edric and Sweetrobin. Neither boy seemed as enchanted by the store’s merchandise. Her gaze flickering to the entrance, Sansa wasn't actually sure who looked the most bored: the boys or her guards. Both the men from the Baratheon sentries and Ser Jaime appeared to be dying of boredom. _Well, they just have to suck it up for a little longer_.

Honestly, Sansa did feel somewhat sorry for the men. Even more so now than for her first days in King’s Landing, Sansa had started visiting the city daily. She had embraced her ‘role’ as wife of the Hand and decided to be more _proactive_ with her time. And while she kept both her dad’s gun and the dagger Brynden had given her close at hand (beneath her skirts), Sansa did feel safer with the guards present.

Much to their - and Stannis’ - dismay, Sansa had made it a point to visit cloth merchants more and more over the past two weeks. Steadily becoming more comfortable with her position in court, meant her wardrobe needed a few adjustments- _improvements_ ( _a girl can never have too many dresses_ ). Her sketches, while possibly - _cheekily_ \- chiefly inspired by others: _the Christians (Dior, Louboutin, Lacroix), Chanel, YSL, Westwood, Lagerfeld, Valentino_... were bolder than her first ‘Dragon Age creations’; though they still kept the devout, pious look. _And tasteful, obviously_. Of course, Sansa had - _secretly_ \- started making a few ensembles for Stannis - shirts, tunics, a couple of cloaks… _I mean, he_ is _Hand of the King, might as well look the part, no_?

With thoughts of a dark blue jerkin, snugly covering his large, _muscly_ shoulders, Sansa wondered once more how Stannis might react when presented with his new wardrobe. Surely he would like it? She had made sure to keep the designs rather sombre - especially compared to the fashions worn by the other men of court. If nothing else, surely he would appreciate the effort ( _and that it didn't cost too much_ ).

 

_He’s definitely becoming more accommodating_. Since the ‘ _Hand Day’_ , he took more time to spend with her. In twelve days, they had dined together thrice (not counting another ‘lovely’ dinner with the _dragons_ , one with her ‘ _family’_ , or last night with the Arryns), and he had joined her on a couple of walks through the Godswood. On most days, when not overly busy, he took the time to share things with her - lesser issues from council meetings, training trivialities, letters from Maester Cressen and Renly (though she received her own)... - while asking her about her own activities (the least welcomed being her dealings with merchants and seamstresses).

Even in his actions, Stannis warmed to her. Although, he would leave her bed just before dawn each morning, Sansa was pleased that he continued to stay the whole night with her, and gave her a light kiss on her brow when departing.

_Actually_ , Sansa suppressed a self-satisfied smile, correcting herself; he had always kissed her _forehead_ except for _this_ morning. Ready (and more awake), at the opportune moment Sansa had swiftly shifted her head upwards, and his lips had ended up touching hers. The next moment Stannis had jerked backwards as if she had struck him; his expression somewhere between distress and affront, his wide eyes blinking down at her. Reassuringly - _delightfully_ \- Sansa recalled the redness of his neck when he had turned away from her with a near-silent huff.

Once the door had closed, like on previous days, Sansa had curled up on Stannis’ empty side and let the warmth and scent still lingering there lull her back to sleep. Her strange dreams always subsided, or at least were more ‘joyful’ in Stannis’ presence. This morning it had been a blue rose, growing in the crack of a wall of ice. Although not ‘joyful’ per se, Sansa remembered feeling warm and comforted when she awoke the second time.

Sansa shook the vision from her mind. Now was not the time to think of strange dreams.

_No, rather of my_ strange _husband_.

He _was_ rather odd. Though he had been married before (for _several_ years), and he clearly wanted an heir— _a male heir_ , Stannis seemed easily troubled by any kind of possible intimacy, even _during_ sex.

If he were any other man, Sansa would have wondered if it was shyness. _I mean_ , _really,_ it took _six_ nights for him to completely bare himself. Even then, Sansa had only caught the briefest glimpse of him before Stannis had retreated beneath the bedsheets. Still, the notion of Stannis being _shy_ seemed inconceivable. Perhaps sex was truly only about _‘doing his duty_ ’ for him? _No_ , Sansa refused to believe that securing his line was his only reason for wanting sex… for wanting a son… _He’s more than a mere animal_.

Still, more than once, he had stared at her - eyes wide, jaw loose, mouth gaping - when Sansa had suggested certain things she was curious for them to possibly do. _Really_ , none had been in any way weird, crazy, or scary. If anything, all she had proposed (so far) was _tame_ compared to what Joff had asked of her, or compared to the things her friends had done with their bed partners.

For one, Stannis definitely continued to look at her strangely every time she hinted towards giving him a handjob. Dare she say he was _reluctant_ to receive one; only letting her _hold_ him for a few moments before removing her hand. Which just confused her. _Don’t all men like handjobs_? Joffrey had pressed her often enough for one. While she had only done _over_ the trouser stuff with Joff, Sansa secretly craved those brief moments, touching Stannis in that way. It wasn't just the sense of control it brought her, but also just the _feel_ of it - of _him_. Especially since she had yet to actually _see Lord Big and Muscly Jr_.

Heat rose in her face. Sansa looked away from any possible person who might notice her blush. _That’s right_ , she thought, suppressing a sigh, _I’ve had sex, but I have yet to see my husband’s… penis… dick_. She suppressed a burst of giggles. _Gods, could I be any more immature_?

_But really_ , it was _frustrating_. Stannis always had his night-clothes back on by the time she returned from the bathroom after they _‘did their duty_ ’. He was also a rather light sleeper, likely to wake up if she possibly ever found the courage to try and steal a peek. _So yeah_ , the only parts of her - apart from her oblivious lady parts - that were acquainted with his… large _cock_ … were her hands. Sansa bit her lower lip, her neck tingling with warmth. _Soft, hard, hot, spongy, long_ – the memory of _it_ was so vivid that for a split second Sansa actually felt it in her hand… Though _spongy_ didn’t seem entirely the right word for something so _big_ , _masculine,_ and _virile_ – _yeah_ , those _are correct words to describe_ it – not _soft or spongy_. Sansa bit back another giggle, certain that her cheeks were a deep shade of red in addition to being painfully hot. _Seriously, I’m acting like such a silly schoolgirl_ …

 

A shadow broke through the curtains separating the main room from the back of the shop. Turning, Sansa’s saw the owner cheerfully re-enter the room, an apprentice following close behind, both with their arms full of fabrics of different colours and materials.

She beamed at them (pretending she hadn't just been thinking about her husband’s long, hard - _uh_ … _hum_ \- man parts), “Ahh… _wonderful_.”

 

=

 

Steering Fury further through the trees, following the other riders Stannis’s mind reverted once more to this morning. To the kiss Sansa _stole_.

Truthfully, not for the first time today, Stannis was genuinely relieved he had been able to stop himself from yelping at being caught so off guard. It wouldn’t have done to appear so out of sorts and distressed by a _kiss_.

In any case, it was _Sansa_ who had acted out of turn. He had only tried to give her a farewell parting because it was expected of him. _Aye, it is expected; a duty as such_. His action - a mere peck - was but an expression of _his_ approval of _her_ as _his_ wife. Especially if she so willingly accepted doing her duty the previous evening. In fact, that she welcomed him to her bed, ever since the first bedding. _Yes_ : the light kiss on her brow was only a show of gratitude, on his part, to her continued exemplary manner as his lady wife.

_More than exemplary_ , another voice whispered. Stannis shifted in his saddle, as images of last night appeared in his mind. Certain things that had occurred had undoubtedly been _more_ than one would expect from one’s wife. More than what one would expect from a highborn lady. _No_ , putting it bluntly, Sansa had once more acted _brazen_. She persisted in making the same sort of strange gestures she had done on the road.

It confused Stannis to no end that his motherhouse-raised wife - who visited the sept and Godswood several times a day - not only managed to think of such _acts_ , but actually _wanted_ to participate in them. Even if they didn't necessarily aid in getting her with child. Indeed, Stannis was convinced Sansa was determined to not only find some enjoyment in their coupling, but that she was actually - _unabashedly_ \- trying to find ways that would make their marital duties more enjoyable - _pleasurable_ …

_Aye_ , in these matters Sansa’s character was in direct contrast with the lady she showed herself to be in all other areas. Stannis was continually informed of her visits - usually accompanied with at least one if not several ladies - to the Royal Sept or to the Great Sept of Baelor. Just as his guards reported more and more visits not only to local markets to buy fresh fruits, breads and fish, and ordered dresses from many local seamstresses (making Stannis not only concerned for Sansa’s safety but also for the Baratheon purse), but also to the local orphanage and the hospice run by the Great Sept. She would give alms to beggars, buy hot pies off bakers’ carts (usually for the children - of the household or for orphans), and spoke to the city’s many tradesmen.* In fact, Stannis already received several remarks in relations to his wife’s generous and philanthropic activities, currying favour with the city’s populace.

 

Stannis’ brows creased, his frown deepening.  He had thought her asleep this morning. She was _supposed_ to be _asleep_. _As she was - supposedly - asleep the last few mornings_. Now, he wondered if this morning was a singular occasion, with Sansa reacting instinctively… or whether she had been awake all those previous times and had only thought to act this morning. Was her... _evening brazenness_ transferring also to _mornings_?

Stannis found himself groaning at the idea. He would surely get nothing done if it did. He was already having trouble not thinking of the tightness of her sheath, of the plump softness of her lips, of the smoothness of her skin, of the supple hold of her thighs surrounding his hips, of the sight of her mounds - free from her strange bodice - moving up and down as she exhaled heavily... of the feel of her nimble fingers around his manhood last night, as she asked if her grip was acceptable. (It had been more than _acceptable_ , it had been sheer _agony_.)—

Fury jerked, forcing Stannis’ quick reflexes to kick in and help him right himself. Clearly his mount was also displeased by Stannis’ distracted state.

 

He was more than a little grateful for his steed’s indignation (one Stannis shared) the next moment when a voice called out, “ _Lord Baratheon_.”

Stannis shifted once more, to find Rhaegar reaching for him. As the prince aligned his mount with Fury, Stannis noted that Ser[ Oswell Whent](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Oswell_Whent) had retreated. A trifling distance away, Eddard and Arstan appeared to be searching for a possible kill, but Stannis was certain they were more focused on a certain Dragon and himself rather than any woodland creature.

“Your Grace.”

Stannis had expected this moment; just as he had not been surprised by Rhaegar’s invitation to a hunt earlier that morning. Truthfully, he had thought he would be called upon sooner. While Connington had been dismissed, as heir to the throne, Rhaegar had joined the Council. As such, meetings more often than not became a tiding of magpies, chattering with less sense**; Jon Arryn, Stannis, and Pycelle trying to keep the peace between Aerys’ supporters and Rhaegar’s.  (Although once or twice Arryn might have commented to Stannis later on that his remarks and general diplomacy could use some work.) Still, while the hunt had been his idea, the Silver Prince seemed about as enthused by this outing as Stannis was.

_Then again, when has Rhaegar ever looked particularly enthusiastic about anything_? There was always a melancholy to the prince.*** Even when he had placed the crown on Lyanna’s lap, Stannis recalled his gaze solemn rather than triumphant. _A morose look his second son inherited_ —

“The Braavosi emissaries are due to arrive soon.”

Uncertain if a statement or a question, Stannis gave a curt nod. “Aye, their ships should make port in a week’s time.”

“Will my father join the dealings with the emissaries?”

Stannis jaw twitched. In truth, while his head ached after most council meetings, he preferred it when His Grace did not attend, even if it was his duty. (The same could also be said for court sessions.) Aerys was always coming up with schemes, only to quickly forget about them a fortnight later, leaving Stannis’ jaw throbbing to no end as he tried to keep up. Still, the king loved music, dancing and celebrations, and the Braavosi[ magisters](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Magister) would feel slighted if they were not received by the king. Thankfully finding a middle ground had not been difficult.

“His Grace looks forward to the banquets. He will most likely leave the actual trade dealings to the council, however.”

Stannis felt his brows crease as the realisation hit. _He_ would have to join the entertainment, boisterous laughter and excessive drinking. _Sansa_ ’s presence would also be required at these events.

_She is good at this_ , he reminded himself. For all her strange actions in their chambers Sansa knew her courtesies as if she had been born with them. He had seen her with Lord and Lady Buckler, watched her with Lady Jocelyn and Princess Elia. Within court, she was easily approachable, ready with praise and compliments.

“And the envoy from the Iron Bank?”

_So Rhaegar has heard of the added visitor_. He gave a short nod, “Their envoy is amongst the passengers aboard the [_Titan's Daughter_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Titan%27s_Daughter). Lord Arryn and myself will treat with him. ”

_Aye_ , this meeting would be best held _without_ His Grace. Twenty year ago, in a dispute with the bank, Aerys claimed he would build a war fleet and bring the Titan of Braavos to its knees. It had been Tywin Lannister who settled the matter, wise enough not to make an enemy of the Iron Bank.

In truth, Stannis looked forward to[ Noho Dimittis](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Noho_Dimittis)’ visit. While Braavosi were great lovers of song and flesh, the Iron Bank, though not easily swayed, worked in numbers and facts, which he preferred.

Sparing a glance to the prince, Stannis wondered if Rhaegar would ask to attend said meetings, or even inquire why Stannis had not mentioned[ Chelsted](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Qarlton_Chelsted), the Master of _Coin_.

Instead, “Lord Arryn is a wise choice. He is shrewd and logical.” Stannis inclined his head in acknowledgement, when Rhaegar then added, “he spoke of his grand-nephew possibly becoming a page in Storm’s End.”*^ This caught Stannis briefly off guard.

He felt his jaw tighten. “Robin Arryn is of an age with my youngest brother, and my wife’s brother. The notion seems a suitable one.” All while thinking Jon needed to cease making remarks and decisions in _his_ stead.

In truth, Robin Arryn was more of an age with Edric Storm rather than Renly or Edmure Tully. Which was mayhaps why Rhaegar frowned, his gaze pensive. “It's a shame. I had hoped to welcome him to Dragonstone; a companion for Egg and Jon. The climate there is similar to that of the Eyrie.”*

Stannis looked ahead, finding the young princes riding next to each other, flanked by their own guards - Ser[ Arthur Dayne](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Arthur_Dayne), and Prince[ Lewyn of Dorne](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lewyn_Martell). _Aye_ , the Arryn boy was definitely closer in age to the royal heirs. Stannis also admitted that both would mayhaps be a good influence on Ser Denys’ son. In the fortnight since their arrival, Stannis had seen Rhaegar’s heirs only briefly: glances during the suppers Aerys requested, and once when they had been training with the master-in-arms. Both showed parts of their sire in them. Prince Aegon had the Targaryen’s look, yet even Prince Jaenerys’ silver-near-black eyes seemed dark indigo in the light of dusk. At seven and six respectively their weaponry tutelage was novel, but sharing Rhaegar’s lean build made them rather lithe... _graceful_ even. As for their father’s scholarly characteristics, Eddard had related  that all three royal children were already well educated – taught the common tongue as well as High Valyrian, a decent knowledge in sums, and were trained in songs.

Their advancement was unsurprising, truly. Along with being princes, while Stannis had personally never been on the island, he did not doubt that Dragonstone could be a lonely place for anyone, even princes. It was little wonder Eddard spoke of his nephew as being solemn and guarded.

Still, Eddard spoke of Jaenerys having a good relationship with his siblings, especially Aegon, and even with Princess Elia. The Dornish princess appeared undeniably much closer to her husband’s third child than Stannis believed others ladies would be in a similar situation. (Lysa had refused to let Edric be in her presence, even if he was not _Stannis’_ son.)

Not knowing how else to reply, Stannis inquired, “Do their cousins from Dorne not visit Dragonstone?”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Rhaegar’s lips, “Our visits to Dorne are more frequent. Elia misses her homeland.”

_Aye_ , between the Water Gardens and the strange dragon island, Stannis knew which he would prefer as well.

 

“Will Edmure Tully or Lady Baratheon be joining Lord Tully for a short visit, on his return to the Riverlands? It is my understanding that his heir has not seen his homeland in two years, and her ladyship in over a decade.”

It was an impressive feat on Stannis’ part to keep from balking at the inquiry. First, Hoster Tully had only mentioned his possible departure two nights ago, after supper. How had Rhaegar already heard of it? Stannis was certain even Sansa remained ignorant of her father’s potential plans. And second: Stannis did not care for the prince’s mention of _Lady Baratheon_. _Sansa is_ my _wife, and she is to stay by_ my _side_.

At the thought, Stannis couldn’t help but wonder once more what _Sansa_ thought of the Silver Prince. In those first days after Lysa’s death, Stannis _had_ wondered if Rhaegar was Lysa’s secret lover. While seeming implausible, Stannis having no memory of the man ever speaking with or of his first wife, it was important to note that he had no recollection of the prince having been previously acquainted with any of the Stark party before he crowned Lyanna. Ultimately, though, Stannis realised that the dates - at least with regards to Lysa’s girl - coincided with the prince’s mourning retreat, first to Winterfell and the Isle of Faces and then to Summerhall, for the passings of both his second wife and his mother.

 

Making an effort to keep his tone even, Stannis replied, “To my knowledge, when Lord Tully departs, only Lady Catelyn will accompany him to Riverrun. Presently, both Lady Baratheon and Edmure Tully will be staying with my household.”

Rhaegar gave a solemn nod, “Naturally. Lady Baratheon seems to be adjusting to King's Landing well enough. She has become quite popular with the members of the court as well as with the smallfolk.” There was a slight pause, Stannis following Rhaegar’s gaze fall on his second son, “Lyanna was never able to get used to the South.”

There was another pause, before the prince’s gaze broke away, looking further ahead. Stannis wondered if he was possibly suppressing a memory, or possibly realising _who_ he was speaking with.

The next moment, though, Rhaegar turned back to him to say, “In any case, if my father gets his way, his tourney will possibly bring us all together once more, as well as give us a reprieve from the city.”

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

After having bid Jocelyn and Robin farewell, and being assured that the children were taken care of, it was with a long happy sigh of contentment that Sansa retired to her chambers. Mary, _Tweedle-dee,_ and _Tweedle-dum_ followed close behind, whilst Ser Jaime and two of Stannis’ own men took their places just outside.

In the end she had bought fabrics and leathers from three different merchants. Her purchases were sent to local seamstresses she had also visited, armed with several sketches and details of the designs she commissioned them to make. Whilst the boys and men’s boredom increased with each stop, they hadn’t been able to mask their interest when they had then gone to the orphanage for Sansa to continue the tale of Dorothy visiting the land of Oz to the children. If she could say so herself, Sansa was rather proud of her narration - especially the thrill in her voice for the Wicked Witch of the West - as well as Darcy’s improvisation as (a rather large) Toto.

 

Plucking a grape from the fruit platter and plopping it into her mouth, she sank into a chair with a satisfied hum, and closed her eyes.

“Shall I call for a bath m’lady?” Mary’s voice broke through her indolence.

Sighing, Sansa replied, “Yes please…”

Yet, the next moment, _restlessness_ consumed her. Sansa’s eyes snapped open, realising she hadn’t done her daily workout for a while. She hadn't since arriving in King’s Landing. Making her mind up on the spot, her back straightening on the sofa, she was relieved to find all three handmaidens still in the room, none having reached the door yet.

“Actually Mary, I will do a session of meditation in my rooms. Would you please arrange for the bath to be ready in an hour’s time.”

Mary’s eyes widened, evidently understanding straight away what Sansa meant by _‘meditation_ ’ - her _‘motherhouse meditation_ ’. On the other hand, Doreah and Deana looked from her to Mary in confusion, clearly wanting further instructions.

Her muscles now buzzing, her body impatient, Sansa swiftly stood from her chair and moved to her private room, confident that Mary would explain that Sansa wanted to be alone.  She also trusted that Mary would give her a warning if anyone came for her during the hour she intended to exercise.

It was only once she was safely alone that Sansa paused to breathe, a large smile growing on her face. The next moment, she went straight for to her backpack, and took out the required clothing, as well as her iPod and headphones.

 

=

 

The hunt finished earlier than Stannis had expected. Not that he was complaining. Drawing Fury to a halt with the rest of the men, he thrust the reins to his groom and swiftly jumped off, his dirty, stiff legs welcoming the solid ground beneath his feet.

Once the obligatory remarks and farewells to the party were made, he briefly spoke with Eddard and Arstan, before - his mind focused on the heat, the sweat and the dust that had built up during the excursion - Stannis headed for the Tower of the Hand and called for a bath.

 

At the landing to his personal apartments, Stannis found not only the usual guards, but also Ser Jaime Lannister. His mouth tightened into a frown. While he had yet to find fault with the young knight, Stannis had not been pleased to learn that a Kingsguard would be regularly  escorting him as well as his wife. Moreover, Stannis would rather have Ser[ Jonothor ](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jonothor_Darry)or Ser Barristan guarding Sansa. _‘The_ _Lion of Lannister_ ’ was just too… _young_ … and _handsome_. Not to mention, Stannis still recalled the strange looks _his_ wife had given Ser Jaime when they first met.

Judging by their presence, Sansa was in her chambers, but Stannis still went to Ryman to confirm. The guard answered promptly. “Upon her return from town, Lady Baratheon retired to her chambers to meditate, m’lord.”

Stannis gave a curt nod, and entered his own chambers. Closing the door, he quickly moved to the long table and poured himself a cup of lemon water. Thirst quenched, he started removing his outer jerkin, readying for his bath.

 

That was when he noticed the soft sound of... _humming_?

He turned, searching, trying to identify the source... to ultimately find himself facing the door connecting to Sansa’s rooms.

Stannis frowned. Ryman had spoken of his wife _meditating_. Stannis would have thought meditation was done silently…

He moved closer. Not just _humming_ : _singing_. Not a hymn, though. Or, at least, not one he recognised.

 

He yanked the door open.

“... _Hell (hell), what the matter with your head head...”_

He stopped. His mind went blank. His jaw loosened and his mouth hung slightly open.

“... _Hell (hell), what the matter with your mind and your sign and a ohohoh...”_

First were the clothes – if they could even be called _clothes_. They stuck so tightly to Sansa’s body that one could think they had been _painted_ on her. _Gods._..

“... _Hell (hell) nothin the matter with your head baby find it, come on and find it...”_

Second was her current... _arrangement_. Her hands and feet were pressed to the floor but her rear was raised high in the air.

“... _Hell, with it baby cause you're fun and you're mine and you look so divine. ...”_

He couldn’t do anything but watch as one of her legs rose in the air behind her, high above her body.

“... _Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love...”_

It was only when she lowered the leg and lifted the other one that Stannis paid more attention to the actual words being sung.

_“... Hell (hell) what the matter with your feel right don't you feel right baby...”_

While Sansa sung it well - especially for someone mainly upside down - Stannis was certain that he had never heard such a song before.

_“... Hell oh ya get it from the mainline all right…”_

Just as he had never witnessed any woman - high or lowborn - in such positions.

“... _I said find it find it come and rub it if you like it yeah...”_

He suppressed a groan – either of disappointment or desire, he was undecided – when she swiftly moved from the strange upside down pose. Now she was lying on her belly on the animal skin, though she lifted her head and upper torso, her hands pressing down into the floor, arms stretched out.

“... _Hell (hell) it's your business_

_If you want some take some...”_

Heated, his shirt overly warm and itchy, his breeches tight and cumbersome, his mind full of dense pudding, he tried to _think_ … on how to proceed… while striving to ignore the song’s suggestions.

_“... Get it together baby_

_Come and get your love...”_

 

=

 

Going from the _cobra pose_ to the different _cat flow poses_ , Sansa had just lifted her hips and butt upward, when her neck and scar prickled—

She jerked - panicked - her eyes opening wide. She pretty much fell onto the doe skin and turned to find—

_Stannis_!

_Redbone_ ’s lyrical words were suppressed to some unknown part of her brain as Sansa took in her husband’s large form, standing just inside of the connecting door. Stannis standing, still and rigid, he could have been carved from marble. Stannis _staring_ at her, his eyes locked on her, on her body covered in sweat, on her tank top and leggings.

It was then, looking at his eyes that she noticed they were _dilated_ \- large, practically all black.

Her throat was almost too tight for speech—not with fear or embarrassment, but with...   _anticipation_.

She had to swallow before she could say, “ _St-annis_?”

The sound of her voice knocked him out of his trance, as he suddenly jerked, blinking several times, before briefly looking away. His lips compressed. Both his jaw and fists clenched. And then he was looking at her again, his eyes fixed on her face, as if actively making sure not to look below her neck.

He seemed about to say something when the sound of a loud hard knock broke through the  stilled atmosphere. Stannis had evidently heard it as well, as he suddenly turned to the source with a jerk... and went back into his own rooms.

 

It was only at the loss of of his heated gaze that sense returned to Sansa. That she heard the last fading notes of ‘ _Come and Get Your Love’_. That she became aware of her heart beating much faster than normal. That her body was covered in sweat, her top and leggings covered in stains, her hair probably looked horrible, damp in her ponytail. _Gods, I must look like a mess_.

Spurned back to life, she jerked the earbuds out, and scrambled to her feet, searching for her robe. Only once covered (and her 20th Century gadgets hastily put away) did Sansa slowly move to the door Stannis had passed through.

She was about to reopen it when the sound of muffled voices came through from the other side. Putting her ear to the wood, she listened to hear… _splashing_ , followed by a _thud_ , before a voice - not Stannis’ - said, “ _the bath will be ready as soon as the last pails of water arrive, m’lord_.”

There was some shifting and the sound of feet, more voices and then there was the unmistakable _thump_ of a heavy door being closed. Stannis’ voice came through - “ _I will not be requiring your assistance this time. You are dismissed_.”

Sansa was still wondering if she should enter when suddenly a knock came from her own door. One reminding her of her own bath, and her lunch-date with Cat.

 

 

 

**.**

 

 

 

Sansa jerked, her eyes snapping open. For once she didn’t remember anything except for the faraway sound of a person – a _child_ – screaming.

Here, in her chambers, safely in her bed, silence reigned, as if all was frozen. Only the cool sea breeze was felt. The wind was picking up, chilled and restless, but Sansa welcomed it, shutting her eyes. She inhaled deeply, to let out an even longer breath, she willed both mind and body to calm. Once composed, she opened her eyes once more, slowly. It was dark, in her rooms and outside; late enough for the candles to have run out, enabling a view of several stars through the bed’s and balcony’s thin drapes.

Sansa turned, only to find the space next to her _empty_. _Stannis isn’t here_. From the sheets, cool and crisp – _undisturbed_ \- he hadn’t been here.

Her heart jolted to full alertness, any lingering traces of disturbing dreams completely erased.  Instead, her day came rushing back to mind. She hadn’t seen Stannis since he left her all sweaty and gross in her yoga clothes.

While she had more than once been distracted by images of his dark eyes, staring at her, not too different from a beast on the hunt, Sansa’s afternoon with Cat had been nice. Even if Eddard had been a no-show. Sansa had hoped he would drop by, to incite some conversation between the two. She had already mentioned Cat several times when with him, and had welcomed him to join them when mentioning today’s plans during the Arryn dinner. Then again, Sansa acknowledged that most twenty-something men wouldn’t be interested in the same things as young teenage girls. Getting the two to interact was definitely not easy. Still, she had suggested to Cat to ask Eddard about the North, certain he would be happy to answer any questions she may have.

_That is, before Lord Wannabe-Strange intruded_ , Sansa sighed. It hadn’t been Eddard but Petyr Baelish who dropped by. Since their first meeting Sansa had seen the goatee-man once before today. Both times the man had been pleasant– courteous and obliging even, with the conversation rather interesting. And yet, not unlike _Creepy Mr. Potato-Head_ , there was something about him than made Sansa’s scar prickle.

_He’s a childhood friend of the ‘family’, and is trying to be amicable with me_ , she reminded herself. While still an unfamiliar, Petyr Baelish _had_ tried to discreetly warn Sansa about her husband. Although it actually ended up being no more than a misunderstanding, his intentions had been honourable, in his concern for her. Sansa couldn’t blame Lord Petyr for not realising Stannis had gone to a brothel not for the prostitutes but for his brother. Nor could Sansa hold it against the man because she foolishly hoped to play matchmaker between her ancestors.

While she had still been with Cat and Petyr Baelish, a missive had been delivered, informing Sansa that Stannis would be  detained for the evening. As such, Sansa had been quick to send the page to inform Princess Elia that, ultimately, she would be able to join for supper (before Cat possibly invited her for a ‘ _family dinner_ ’). While her evening with the princess and her ladies had been nice, she had hadn’t actually stayed too late, pleading tiredness, the excuse partially true; Sansa wanting to be there for Stannis’ return being the other reason.

 

Sansa looked down, letting another long sigh escape. She was still in her dress, having fallen asleep waiting for him.

Her eyes moved to the adjoining door. A second jolt ran through her; the slightest sliver of light was coming through its edges. It wasn’t properly closed, as if an invitation. Or at least Sansa took it as such. Quickly donning her slippers, she moved to the door and pulled it open.

She found Stannis bent forward over his desk, writing. Even from the entrance she could see that his jerkin was off, his shirt unkempt, that there was a shadow on his jaw and under his eyes, and his hair was rumpled.

 

“You look like you could use some coffee.”

He jerked, looking up, his eyes finding hers, before frowning, her words registering, “ _coffee_?” After brief pause, he added, “Is it like chocolate?”

Sansa felt her lip twitch, as she drifted to him; he looked rather adorable, bedraggled, yet with  interest clear on his face. “Yes and no. Coffee is a beverage that helps you stay awake... Like chocolate it comes from beans, but it tastes different. Sharper. More bitter. The two together can be quite pleasant, though.”

 

Closer now, at his side, the shadows under his eyes were darker, more pronounced. Her hand moved to his cheek. “Frankly, I think you need sleep.”

His jaw tightened under her fingers. “I will take your suggestions under advisement, my lady.”

“It will all still be here to look through tomorrow.” She couldn’t help but insist, her hand smoothing over his stubble.

His jaw clenched further, “I had not realised you had become a nursemaid in addition to my wife.”

Her fingers feeling the prickle of his five-o’clock shadow, she was barely aware of murmuring back, “Sometimes that seems part of a wife’s duties,” as her eyes went from his tight mouth to his chin, neck, shoulders... Warmth ran through her; mesmerised. Him looking all rumpled and confused, Sansa couldn’t help but remember him, unclean and dishevelled after his hunt... remember his eyes dark.... remember him leaving for his bath... a _naked_ bath. She suppressed a giggle, as she felt her cheeks heat further.

_I_ am _his wife_... _And, sometimes, a wife has to take what she can, especially when it comes in a big, muscled, lord package_.

Not even trying to hear whatever he replied, Sansa reached down and pulled off a slipper. Stannis’ voice stopped mid sentence. His brow creased, as he watched it drop to the floor. She pulled off the other and let it fall next to its companion.

“ _Sansa_?” His voice held a note of uncertainty.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she crouched some for her hands to go under her skirts, and she snagged a stocking and unfastened it. It flowed down, pooling at her ankle. Sansa felt his body stiffening, alert and discomfited, as she pointed out her toes and rolled the stocking off. There was a short grind of teeth when she started on the second.

Stannis called her attention once more, “ _Sansa_ , what are you doing?”

Focusing on her stockings, she replied innocently, “ _I’m_ getting ready for _bed_.”

‘ _Bed_ ’ _,_ ‘ _undressing_ ’ _..._ ‘ _naked_ ’ and ‘ _nude_ ’: all words Myranda would use when hitting on a guy. _When she wanted to sound… enticing_.

“ _B-bed_ ,” Stannis repeated. For grinding to then be heard, “Then I suggest retiring t”—

“I need assistance with my dress,” Sansa whispered, as she looked up at him.

He blinked, before his eyebrows met across the bridge of his nose in an intimidating scowl, clearly irritated by her interruption. His jaw clenched, “ _assistance_?”

Looking innocently back, not intimidated, she explained, “My dress; I need help _unlacing_. There are too many laces. They are too _tight_.”

She suppressed a smile as she watched his throat bob with a heavy swallow, before his mouth set once more, “Call a maid.”

Her stockings done, Sansa righted herself back to full height, facing him, all while moving slightly closer. “But _you_ are right here, awake.”

“This is entirely inappropriate.” The words were ground out harshly.

Her tongue flickered to her lips drying. “How so?... You are my husband. Surely one of a husband’s many duties is to help when his wife is _helpless_ ,” letting her voice become slightly more breathless and low at the end.

The scowl disappeared for a second. He went pink, and for the briefest second he looked taken aback—and then he scowled, his mouth opening—

Sansa wasn’t having it. She turned away, ignoring the low hitch from behind her, and moved her hand to the back of her neck. Pushing her hair to the side, she bent her head forward, and insisted, “It won’t take long.”

There was a pause. Stretched silence; Sansa refusing to move. It continued long enough for her to wonder what would happen if she bent down and sat on his lap. But the next moment, there was an abrupt jerk followed by slightly more careful pulling and tugging. Then – his voice definitely more hoarse, Sansa only heard, “ _There_.”

Released, her gown loose, Sansa slowly stood up, and turned until she faced him. Only then did she pull at the sleeves, open the dress from her shoulders and let it gape forward, giving a glimpse of the shift beneath. With a slight tug, at the level of her hips, it all collapsed silently to the floor and she stepped out of the gown.

 

His jaw worked but he did not move.

Her body shivered, in only her shift. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was the breeze or him.

The longer they remained - her standing there, him sitting at his desk, staring - the more self-conscious Sansa became. Shyness building, losing confidence, she refused to unclothe more, be fully naked, in the middle of the room. It came to the point where, her eyes moved down, away from him, to her toes. To her clothes on the floor.

She became irritated at the sight of them. Vexed and embarrassed she swiftly bent down and retrieved them, folding them quickly into a semi-tidy pile before straightening and facing Stannis a final time.

She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck where cheek and mouth met, keeping her voice even, “Thank you for your help, Stannis. Don’t stay up too late.”

To which she straightened and turned, to walk back to the door.

 

She had nearly reached the door when she suddenly felt two hands grab her waist and her body being spun. So caught off guard, her bundled dress fell to the floor as she let out a startled gasp—

Only for it to be suppressed by a hard mouth descending on her own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested: the different yoga poses Sansa was doing were: Downward Facing Dog, Three Legged Downward Dog, Cobra, aka Upward-Facing Dog
> 
> =
> 
> * - Margaery does much to curry favour with the populace as Tommen's queen. She visits local markets to buy fresh fruits, breads and fish, orders dresses from many local seamstresses, and makes great public shows of charity, all while travelling with a bright and colourful retinue. // Wherever she went, the smallfolk fawned on her, and Lady Margaery did all she could to fan their ardour. She was forever giving alms to beggars, buying hot pies off bakers’ carts, and reining up to speak to common tradesmen.” – thoughts of Cersei Lannister
> 
> ** - “You chatter like magpies, and with less sense.” – Stannis
> 
> *** - “Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.” / “You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested. / “Not sour, no, but . . . there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense . . . ” The old man hesitated again. / “Say it,” she urged. “A sense . . . ?” / “ . . . of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.” – Arstan Whitebeard and Daenerys
> 
> *^ - In ASoIaF: Jon Arryn and Stannis had planned for Robert Arryn to become Stannis’ ward on Dragonstone (which obviously Lysa and Baelish fudged up).


	38. PART III, Chapter 8 – Thoughts of the Past and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another BIG THANK YOU to [Sarah_Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/pseuds/Sarah_Black) for having looked for the greater parts of the chapter! :)

 

 

Stannis gathered her closer, deepening the kiss, burying his hands in long, silky hair.

Lengthy, heated moments passed. His arousal built, his body demanding that he do more than merely kiss as his feet guided them from the doorway to her room... to her bed...

 

He had thought his meetings and the work long, _draining_ and _all-consuming_... Until she had come. Until she had returned, disrupting his peace once more, after the... _meditation incident_. He felt like a hunting animal seeing her, then and now, as if even the hairs on the back of his neck knew she was in the room. Earlier, it had taken a great amount of resolve and determination to not think of her, in her strange garments, lying on the animal skin...

And now, the whole time she had stood in front of him, all he had wanted was retreat to a bed and—and _rut_.

Although covered, he had been inexplicably fascinated by her curves; the way her waist was small, but not too narrow, balanced by her breasts and hips, above and below, as if to prove she was a _woman_ , a _fertile woman_ …

His fingers had twitched as he loosened the laces of her gown. And when it fell to the floor... And when her body shivered from the cool breeze creeping in from the balcony; the shift had puckered tauntingly over the tightened peaks of her breasts.

And now, just as she - _finally_ \- started retiring to her chambers (as Stannis had hoped since her entrance), the firelight cast shadows through the shift’s light fabric. The many troubles of the realm could not quench the rush of blood to his groin or the pounding in his chest. Temptation had flickered for another moment— _temptation_ to reach for her, to grab her, to kiss her mouth, to...

And then he _was_. He had reached her. He _held_ her. He _kissed_ her, and _kissed_ her more...

Stannis continued kissing her, until reluctantly, he released her, when the back of her thighs hit something— _the bed_.

Both breathing raggedly, Stannis set to work stripping off the shift before going for his own clothes; boots and breeches rapidly followed after his shirt.

There was only a small pause when he reached his smallclothes. He kissed Sansa’s cheek as he undid the laces, kissed the curve of her jaw, kissed her throat as he pushed the lapels to either side, the breeze ruffling through the curls at the top of his groin, cooling his heated skin.

Only then did he halt. He could feel her laboured breaths, panting against him... Her attention was on him; on his hands, his smallclothes, his groin... She was glancing down to the few hairs already visible, to the arousal still hidden... not boldly as a whore would, but shyly.

And yet, her hands seemed to be already seeking him out, moving down the plane of his abdomen...

A shudder ran through him, following the path of her fingers, Stannis was in two minds as to what to do next...

Rightness won out. Just as she reached his navel, he moved his own hands to her bodice. Though tempting - all lacy and black, cupping the curve of her breasts expertly - he quickly went for its straps, pulling them down from her shoulders, while lightly guiding her backwards and down, to lie on the bed, with him following above her.

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, as she shifted, her arms bending backwards and unclasping the bodice. His own hands cupped the now-free mounds; so _round_ , so _warm_. He closed his eyes and swallowed a groan of satisfaction, before being unable to stop himself from pinching the erect – _taunting_ – peaks... He felt Sansa tremble, heard her catch her breath. He tweaked it a second time.

It was all more familiar now. Her breasts were familiar in his hands, the scent of her and taste of her lips were familiar, the softness of her hair— and the heat and tightness of her was familiar, too, when they both finally shed their smallclothes.

And yet, Stannis was less gentle than previous nights. More _urgent_. It wasn’t a conscious choice; his body dictated it, _demanded_ it. Hunger was roaring within, and she was raising her hips and meeting him. It all made him want to bite her... act even more the rampaging beast. Instead, he kissed her as his arousal spiralled tighter. Her sleek muscles clenched around his manhood, and then...—If anything, his climax was more intense this time; Stannis certain his heart stopped beating for a moment.

 

 

Stannis floated slowly back down to reality: a soft bed, Sansa, warm, beneath him.

His brain starting to work again, he rolled off her, concerned he was crushing her. Yet, instead of moving away, letting Sansa retire to the privy, he gathered her in his arms and held her as his heartbeat slowed and his skin cooled.

Not that Sansa seemed to mind, based on the way her body snuggled closer, her head lying on his shoulder, her arm resting across his chest.

 

Moments passed. His body and mind were sedated but Stannis found himself not tired. Thoughts and images of the day continued to swirl inside him.

From her slight shifting Sansa remained awake as well. She must have sensed his alertness since she soon moved her head back to his arm, for her mismatched eyes to meet his.

Even in the near darkness - the only light coming from the still-open door between their rooms – Stannis was able to take in all of her: her hair dishevelled, her lips plump and her cheeks a pleasing rosy colour, her neck dusted with bristle marks he could only assume had come from the day’s growth of beard...

As for her stare, it seemed to ask, “ _is_ _all well_?”

He was still in two minds to mention, her impertinent interruption... as well as her earlier _meditation_. Yet, undecided, he decided to ask, “How was your day?”

The question was welcome from the smile that appeared. “It was lovely. Lady Jocelyn and I took the children to the orphanage, where I continued telling the story of the Wizard of Oz.”

“The story of a girl finding herself in a strange land, one full of magic, monsters and wizards?” Stannis verified, remembering.

“Yep, Dorothy. She’s trying to find a way home, back to her family.”

“ _Naturally_. I assume she does find a way back? They always do in stories.”

Her tone was softer, a near whisper, as she confirmed, “Yes she does; back to her aunt and uncle.” Strangely- _inexplicably_ , Sansa then quickly moved on, “We also bought fabrics for dresses.”

“Yes, Ser Arstan informed me.”

She must have noticed his dry, less than impressed tone, as Sansa was quick to defend herself, all while gently pinching at his chest, “It is Catelyn’s nameday in a few days. I want to gift her several gowns, as I’ve already missed so many of them through the years.”

While he felt her fingers starting to lightly soothe over and trace his newly-forming bruise, Stannis frowned, discomfited by the remark. He only now realised that he had no knowledge of when _Sansa_ ’s nameday was. From her strange travel documents, he knew she would turn eight-and-ten within the year, but he had no indication of how soon this would possibly be. _I’ll ask Lord Tully or the Blackfish tomorrow_.

He was also then reminded of his earlier conversation with Rhaegar. If the prince and others knew of Tully’s probable departure, it would be best he inform Sansa himself, before she learnt from an unrelated third party...

Reflecting further on Rhaegar’s words, Stannis wondered if Sansa would want to go visit her father’s House. As boys, both Eddard and he returned to their homes often enough; Stannis had been in Storm's End for Renly’s birth... for their parents’ departure and— _and_ Eddard even now went to Winterfell once every couple of years.

Be that as it may, surely she wouldn’t want to go so _soon_... They had been wed only four weeks and bedded two. His heir was a more pressing matter.

In any case, Sansa had yet to mention wanting to visit.

Thinking the matter over, Stannis decided he would inform her of her father’s departure on the morrow, not wanting to upset her just before sleep. As for a possible visit, they would discuss it if she raised the issue—

Stannis gave a yelp. His hand swiftly grabbed Sansa’s wrist.

So lost in his thoughts, and his body relaxed, he realised - nearly too late - that Sansa nimble fingers had moved down on his person, now at his navel.

“What do you think you are doing?” his voice gruffer than he would have liked, as his hands continued to hold her still, though careful to keep his grip not too tight.

“ _Nothing_.” Though whispered, Stannis was certain there wasn’t any remorse in her voice. Rather frustration... or _petulance?_ as if a child denied a toy.

There was a pause then, silence growing.

Stannis started wondering if he should press her further, or ask about on her odd tendency for brazenness in the evening, or just release her hand, when Sansa lifted her upper body from his chest, using her other arm for support. Her gaze finding his, her voice stronger, she whispered, “Stannis, you know it’s alright to occasionally let go, right?”

Remaining still on the bed (wishing she would return to her previous position), Stannis frowned up at her, “ _Let go_?”

“Yeah... _let go_... _feel_... You are a good lord Stannis. I like him: the diligent lord, concerned with those in his care, even if you try to hide it sometimes. But I also think that - _sometimes_ \- it is alright to just be _Stannis_ – just put Lord Baratheon, Hand of the King, away for a while.”*

“I am _always_ a lord – as I _am_ Hand,” he replied stiffly.

Her gaze broke from him, “Not always.”

“ _Always_.” His voice firm brokering no argument.

With a sigh, one definitely of disappointment, her gaze turned away, moving to the shadows, towards the balcony.

Stannis’ brows creased. Why was she dismayed? He _was_ a lord. He had been born the first son of a lord- _the heir_... It was only given truth that he became lord after his sire.

He could not just ‘let go’ of that which he was.

 

“What do you like doing… for your enjoyment?”

“I… Well…” Stannis could not well say he had rather enjoyed _rutting_ in her. Knowing Sansa, she would not be pleased being compared to a brood mare. He pushed to images of earlier in the day, further back than seeing his wife on an animal skin. “... Riding. Riding is an agreeable diversion.”

A small smile returned to her face. “I think you should teach me how to ride.”

His brow rose, “teach you?” unsure how he felt about the idea of Sansa being able to ride on her own.

The smile steadily increasing, she gave a slight huff, “ _Yes_. How else can we go hawking? Lord Arryn just last night mentioned an excursion; how am I supposed to join if I can’t ride?”

“You would ride with me.”

This time a jab at his ribs accompanied her huff. “Don’t be absurd Stannis. I can’t just depend on you for the rest of my life every time I want to go riding...”

Before Stannis was able to counter ‘ _why ever not?_ ’ Sansa suddenly shifted and the next thing Stannis knew, he was lying on the mattress with Sansa _straddling_ him. So caught off guard by the sensation of her thighs, her _warmth,_ and the sight she presented, he did nothing to prevent his hands from going instinctively to her hips.

Finding balance, her nails scratched his chest, digging into his skin, as she lowered her body, and her lips found his for a quick peck, before she nipped his lower lip. “Surely teaching me to ride is something we could both find... _agreeable_?”

He wasn’t sure what followed next except for his manhood throbbing, feeling her fingers going around him, and then finding a warm, wet sheath within her.

Stannis held back a grunt. He knew (mainly from Robert’s boasts and over-sharing) that there were other ways of bedding a woman... As he should have known his wife would not be averse to trying other ways to do their duty…

He felt his chest contract as Sansa let out a soft moan, murmuring – _frustratingly intelligible_ – words... before proceeding to _ride_ _him_. Rather than remove her from his person, though, his treacherous hands actually started _guiding_ her body, helping her move with his trusts.

Surprisingly, even with the excruciatingly exquisite feel of her around him, despite the smooth flesh between his fingers, the arousing sight of her breasts bouncing above him and her head tilting back, and despite the sound of her moaning, and the feel of her long red hair brushing against his skin, Stannis’ release took longer to reach than the first time. It was only when he felt Sansa’s body stiffen, as she clenched and unclenched around his shaft and let out a cry, that his own hips gave several shorter, rushed deep thrusts, and he groaned and grew taut as he filled her with his seed.

Stannis was barely aware of her collapsing on top of him, her teeth grazing his neck softly, or the contented sigh that followed before exhaustion finally took a hold of him...

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

_The scene was a river of silk, satin, and velvet. Thousands seemed to be there; eating, drinking, and laughing. Yet her gaze went to the higher platform, straight to two children: a boy and a girl, laughing as they talked, drank and ate._

_Both were young, neither yet ten even with the boy’s hair was near-white._

_He was filling his mouth with pie, all while speaking to his dark haired companion when, suddenly, his words broke in a fit of coughing._

_Concern etched on the girl’s face as he took a drink. Or tried to, liquid spewed back out when another spate of coughing doubled him over, his face turning red._

_The cup slipped from his hands... The stone floor turned near black as the drink ran across the dais..._

_The boy coughed... The girl gasped... People yelled and screeched, crying out for help... others shoved, moving to the boy’s side, pounding his back... ripping open his collar..._

_A fearful high thin sound emerged from the boy..._

_And then it stopped._

_The silence was more terrible still._

_People bellowed at everyone and no one, while the boy began to claw at his throat, his nails tearing bloody gouges in the flesh. Beneath the skin, the muscles stood out hard as stone._

_Turning away, unable to watch further, Sansa’s eyes found the girl, screaming and crying**_ —

Sansa gasped, her body jerking up right, her eyes opening instantly.

She was back in her room, in her bed. It had been a dream. _Only a dream_.

Yet, it had felt so real. Her body was still shaking from the images. She could feel sweat on her back. Her hair was damp, sticking to her face.

Another shudder went through her. The dreams were becoming more frequent, nightmares again. Even Stannis' presence next to her didn't seem to calm them anymore.

She silently moved to the edge of the bed to take the jug in shaking hands and poured herself a cup, taking long gulps of water until none remained.

 

As her heart slowly calmed, she looked to her side. Stannis was lying next to her, asleep. He at least looked peaceful, looking closer to his twenty-five years than usual. _Though, really_ , with his black hair dishevelled, sporting a stubbly beard along with the chest-hair, her husband looked like a hibernating grizzly bear. Sansa lips quirked the briefest amount as his mouth opened and he made a secession of funny little noises, not quite snores, but almost. She had never noticed them before. Then again Sansa conceded she could probably count on one hand the number of times he was asleep whilst she was awake. _Workaholic and light sleeper; not a great combo_.

For once he had fallen into a deeper sleep; one Sansa was thankful for. Not only because of the constant blue shadows under his eyes, but from the simple fact that she had yet to tell him about the nightmares. It was partly because she had this feeling- this _hope_ , however naïve, childish it may be that if she ignored them, they would eventually just go away. But mostly her reason was because Sansa could imagine what he would say…

 

Her gaze moved from his large form to the balcony to see the sky was a light shade of pink. _Dawn_ , she thought, as she fiddled with the golden ring on her finger. _Another day. Another new day_.***

So many days had passed– the days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months.

It was hard to believe she had been in King’s Landing for over four months.

 

At least certain things _had_ progressed for the better.

Stannis barely ever used his own bed, taking residence in her own. He was definitely becoming more willing to accept her way of thinking when it came to ‘enjoying their marital duties’. Sex seemed to have become _more_ to him than just wanting to make his heir.

While Stannis was still sometimes sceptical of hand-jobs, he now allowed them more freely. There had also been a very amusing morning, when – frustration having reached an all time high – Sansa had woken him up with a hand-job, only to quickly transition to a blowjob, without getting ‘ _his leave’_ beforehand. His confused, undecided bluster regarding the matter had nearly been just as thrilling as doing the act itself. He was definitely more than willing to do a full study of her breasts, though. Now not only touching, but also _kissing_ , sucking, licking, tasting, nipping... them. Unfortunately, on the other hand, he had balked the two times Sansa had suggested he kiss her ‘ _down_ _below_ ’, but she was not giving up. Slowly - for some things _, very slowly_ \- but surely, Sansa continued to search and push for those moments when Stannis let his ‘ _outer-lording shell_ ’ go and just _be_. These instances tended to happen late at night or early in the mornings, when he was not fully awake and his defences weaker.

As for outside the bedroom, they continued to spend as much time as possible together. Stannis actually accompanied her several times into town, or to the riverbank. They had even started actual _riding_ lessons (though more than once, he had been easily _distracted_... leading to longer _riding sessions_ in their bed that evening), and Stannis had gifted her with a bird, when they joined Ser Denys and Jocelyn hawking.

Nevertheless, he refused to be lead to any sort of merchant. And while Stannis had liked his new wardrobe– or, at least, wore the clothes more often than not and had commented on their quality and cut (and still looked manly, rather than an overly-colourful pin-cushion, unlike several men of court), he seemed to prefer her own light nightgowns and her 20th lingerie _more_ , especially the little _Liu-Liu_ thong-and-bra set, from _Agent Provocateur_ , in ‘ _Baratheon colours’_. On the other hand, certain of her new dresses had been criticised, Stannis grumbling about them being too ‘ _scandalous_ ’.

 

Still, one thing that bothered Sansa to no end was Stannis’ work. Or really, certain crazy dragon-kings... Stannis didn’t necessarily complain, but from what he said – and what she heard herself – Sansa knew Aerys wasn’t getting any better or easier to work for.

While the Small Council had already made several improvements to the city, as well as the realm in general, since his appointment, the Handship was definitely taking a toll on Stannis. Even the visits from the Braavosi emissaries, while wonderful– bringing fabrics and songs from abroad, the meetings with the magisters, and those with the Iron Bank had been long and strenuous, Stannis staying up late hours to wake up before dawn the next day.

And there had been the burnings. Sansa felt her stomach sink once more thinking on them. Of course, she knew that he had been called the _Mad King_ for a reason. She had learnt of him burning many with wildfire in History class. _Still_... even with the first were men accused of killing and looting travellers on the road, and the second burning slavers caught off the coast of[ Massey's Hook](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Massey%27s_Hook), Sansa had still felt a sharp shiver run through her, her scar searing, both times when she had heard.

Sansa appreciated that Stannis kept her away from it as much as possible; just as she kept from both court and the Red Keep as much as possible. Even if it tore her inside, she knew there was nothing she could do, lest Aerys turn his brand of justice on someone even less deserving, or even worse: on Stannis or her.

It was after the first burning that her nightmares had returned. Those of dragons breathing fire on a large fortress... of a sea burning green... of a man having his skull crushed by two huge hands... of a voice crackling ‘ _burn them all_ ’... of a man, bleeding, crawling to a tree, his blood staining the snow a deep red... of pale ice-blue eyes...

Another shiver ran through her, as Sansa suppressed them once more.

It hadn’t helped that the keep had slowly become a lonelier place.

Not long after celebrating Catelyn’s birthday (Sansa making sure Ned had been invited), her ‘father’ and ‘sister’ had returned to Riverrun. Their departure had made Sansa sadder than she had expected. There had been a few tears in her eyes when she had embraced the older man and her teenage ancestor. She had promising to write as often as possible, and to send Cat as many silks and fine fabrics from the capital as possible. Ser Denys, Jocelyn and Robin had left two months ago, along with several other courtiers, with mostly highborn from the Crownlands and wealthy merchants remaining.

Then again, she supposed she might see them again at this tournament Aerys seemed to be pushing for.

 

“ _Sansa_?”

At the sound of the hoarse voice, Sansa turned to find Stannis slowly waking. His bleary eyes, still half-closed, looked at her with a  increasing degree of concern.

She forced a smile to return to her lips as she moved closer and pressed her lips against his, before she whispered, “Good morning.”

“ _M’ning_ ” was mumbled back, as he leaned into her touch as if he needed it as much as she did.

With a quick kiss of his own, followed by a second to her brow, he then released her. Unfortunately, his concern persisted, “Are you well?”

Thinking quickly, Sansa said the first thing that came to mind, her voice low, “I’m just thirsty; I woke up dreaming of Dornish sands and my throat dry.”

He frowned, before twisting his body to reach for the jug by the bed. _Empty_ , just as Sansa had known.

His grimace deepening, he let out a huff as he rose from the mattress and made his way toward the table, where a second jug, along with cups and a platter of food had been placed.

Sansa rolled onto her side, and watched as he covered the short distance in easy strides. Tormenting images were gradually suppressed to a dark part of her mind as she admired the long, lean muscles of his calves and the sculpted tone of his shoulders and back... and his _backside_... She couldn’t help but give a small sigh. It was _one_ of full _appreciation_. The sight was definitely a welcomed distraction from her dreams. His cheeks were _firm_ ; well-rounded pure muscle. And, to tease her further, two indents appeared above each one, ‘ _winking’_ alternating with each step. _Right, left, right_...

Once the table was reached, Stannis took jug and cups to place them on the serving platter, taking the lot in his hands.

He turned and - _By the Gods_ \- began his return...

If the view of his back had been a well-received distraction, his front... his front... all other thought left her...

Sansa couldn’t help herself. Her gaze travelling the length of him, she called out, “ _Wait._ ”

He halted, his frown returning. “What is it?”

“It’s just... I... I lied… ,” Sansa confessed, biting her lip, her eyes meeting his.

His jaw twitched, his brows crashing together, his voice soft- worryingly so, “ _What_?”

“I... well not a lie, per se...” Sansa confessed looking down, smoothing over the sheets. “It’s just that I didn’t really need any more water. I drank the end of the jug just before you woke... I...” Her gaze meeting his once more, she let her lashes fluttered several times as her tongue licked her now-drying-once-more mouth, “I just wanted to watch you walk... the length of the room... and back.”

Stannis blinked, startled, before his abdominal muscles tensed- _rathe_ _r deliciously_ \- and his neck and cheeks turned a slight tint of pink. He briefly looked away, grumbling. Sansa was nearly certain she heard the word ‘ _ridiculous’_ and another that sounded a lot like ‘ _raisin_ ’*^... before his less-than-impressed scowl returned to face her. Looking down at her full of chastisement, he started moving forwards once more at a slightly quicker pace...

Sansa barely had time to let out a small giggle before the tray was placed on the floor and his arms pulled her against his _all-lord-big-and-muscly_ and _oh-so-well-sculpted_ body...

_Yes_ , at least their marriage and ‘ _marital duty_ ’ had improved for the better...

 

=

 

“Many thanks, m’lord .”

Stannis gave a curt nod from his chair as the newly-made lord treasurer gave a final bow and took his leave. Only then did he stifle a yawn.

When the previous treasurer had died, Arryn had pushed for one of his bannermen, stating he was good with coin yet Stannis was happy with his own choice, for who [Chelsted](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Qarlton_Chelsted) had also given his approval and praises (then again, Chelsted would likely praise the contents of Stannis’ privy as well, if asked^). In any case, their time had been productive. Just as Stannis’ conversations with the city’s masons and smiths and his rides through King’s Landing, had been instructive. Lord Lannister may have built new roads and repaired old ones throughout the realm while Hand, yet, for not the first time, Stannis wondered how much his predecessor had done within the capital itself. He had most likely focused on the main roads, and had clearly overlooked most of the city’s sewage systems. As for those who had followed the Lion; they evidentially had thought roads and sewage even less of a priority. It was no surprise the city stank. Stannis would be easily convinced if informed that the drains, sewers, and wells had not been renovated since King[ Jaehaerys I](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jaehaerys_I_Targaryen)'s reign, two centuries ago.

 

Stannis leaned back against his chair, his eyes closing. Four months of council meetings and court sessions. Four months of missives from other lords, requests from the Wall, meetings and banquets with dignitaries from the east, merchants, and traders. Four months of dealing with murders, rapers, slavers, brigands, pirates and poachers... bakers mixing sawdust with bread, butchers selling horsemeat as beef, in addition to the usual petitions, disputes between holdfasts, and adjudicating of boundary placements. Four months pushing for renovations and improvements to not only the city but the realm.

Four months spent thinking, planning, musing…

A myriad of images flicked through his mind. Road repairs. Sewage renovations. Pasture improvements. Aegon’s, High Hill. The Red Keep. Hot, sunny skies. Fiery-red hair. Mismatched eyes, blue and silver. Biting lip. Pale face—

A hard knock came from the door.

Stannis eyes’ snapped open. Silently grumbling, he called out, for Ryman to open the door and inform him, “His Grace, Prince Rhaegar, wishes an audience, yer’ lordship.”

_Four months of dragons and fire_.

_Aye_ , for most part, Aerys was content to leave the realm and dealings with the populace to Stannis and the council, yet on the few occasions he did make an appearance, meetings had been strenuous for all members, and for court sessions, while Stannis would have used Ser[ Ilyn Payne](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Ilyn_Payne) for those sentenced, Aerys called for Rosby’s wildfire. The memory made both Stannis’ teeth and fist clench even now.

_At least, Aerys has been open to most of the improvements to the city_ , Stannis reminded himself. _Though_ , only after Pycelle had reminded His Grace of the[ Great Spring Sickness](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Spring_Sickness), eighty years ago, which had engulfed the realm, worst of all[ King's Landing](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/King%27s_Landing). In addition to lords and smallfolk alike, it had killed King[ Daeron II](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Daeron_II_Targaryen) and his two immediate heirs, the[ High Septon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/High_Septon)… the list went on. Not to mention, it had convinced[ Daemon II Blackfyre](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Daemon_II_Blackfyre) to attempt a[ Second Blackfyre Rebellion](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Second_Blackfyre_Rebellion).

 

_As for Rhaegar_ —

Stannis stopped the thought before it continued. Instead, with a sign of the hand he called for his visitor to enter, as he stood.

Thankfully, quickly enough, Rhaegar entered, greetings and bows were met, the prince sat and enquired on the proceedings of Stannis’ morning meeting, and discussions soon moved to the state of the King’s Road, the Gold Road and the Rose Road... to tariffs for merchant ships... to,

“What is your take on a Valyrian dagger being the prize for my father’s tourney?”

Stannis’ jaw twitched.

‘ _My father’s tourney_ ’. The name was fitting. While Aerys continued to have many ideas only to forget them just as quickly, he had become fixed on having a _tournament_. His insistence had only increased since first mentioned to the point where it was now a certainty;– while making Stannis wonder who _he_ should _thank_ for bringing such an senseless and tiresome notion to His Grace. _Probably his spider_.

Just this morning, for a council appearance, the king had spoken of golden dragons – in the thousands – for second prize, the winner of the melee, and of the archery. And for the champion, ‘ _nothing would do but a Valyrian blade_ ’. As well as a purse of forty thousand, _naturally_. The tournament was to be in honour of House Targaryen after all.

Needless to say, [Chelsted](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Qarlton_Chelsted) had assured Aerys that the ‘ _treasury flowed with gold_ ’ and could ‘ _finance such a large and admirable_ ’ undertaking, all while Stannis had watched the other members, wondering if any would point out that it had been the Master of Coin who had tried to ban tourneys at the dawn of Harrenhal... or that the Tragedy of Summerhall had also happened thirty years ago, taking with it most of the Targaryen Family, when Aerys had belatedly added his heir’s thirtieth nameday as an additional reason for his tourney.

True Rhaegar did not seem pleased by the tournament, yet the prince had barely done anything to object to it either; something that had Stannis concerned. As did the Silver Dragon’s suggestion to invite dignitaries from the Free Cities to the festivities... and Stannis’ knowledge that Rhaegar had spoken privately with[ Noho Dimittis](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Noho_Dimittis) during his visit.

 

Instead of hinting to any this, though, Stannis replied, “Valyrian steel is hard to come by, such a prize would be coveted by most.”

Rhaegar gave a nod. “At the start of his reign, His Grace sent several expeditions in search of [Blackfyre](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Blackfyre) and [Dark Sister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dark_Sister). Months ago, I worried he would send another party, when Ser[ Gerion](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gerion_Lannister) sailed on a quest to find House Lannister's ancestral sword.”

_Aye_ , Stannis knew others had been tempted to do the same when hearing of the voyage.

Then again, Stannis had also heard the rumours of another reason the Lannister knight had left Westeros. Whispers of the man getting a girl on a common woman, and when Lady Cersei found out she had sold the mother to a passing slaver and tried to drown the babe. Blows between the married couple and between Lord Tywin and his brother ensued, ending with the bastard given to septas and Ser Gerion leaving Casterly Rock, brother and wife behind.

When hearing the tale Stannis had felt relief for having refused Lord Tywin’s proposal. He had always thought Lady Cersei having too much of the Lannister traits – vanity and pride; but the killing of _babes_... While her dislike for Robert’s bastard had been palpable, even Lysa hadn’t demanded the boy’s _death_. Then again, months after the[ _Laughing Lion_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Laughing_Lion) set sail, Lysa attempted to kill Stannis, with him finding out she had made him a cuckold.^*

 

Thankfully Rhaegar did not press on the matter of the tourney, or on lost dragonfire blades; talk moved to other matters till prince departed.

And yet, once Stannis was left to his work, his mind refused focus, but instead drifted to Cersei Lannister, Lysa... _Sansa_.

His wife’s attachment to both her niece and bastard-nephew proved she cared– _truly_ _cared_ for them, even though not their true mother. Out of the three, Stannis was certain Sansa would make the best mother.

His jaw twitched. _Which makes it all the more a shame that, still, she has yet to become one_.

 

_Five_ months wedded, _six-and-ten_ weeks bedded. Yet Sansa’s stomach was still as flat as the day they met. If anything she had gotten slimmer.

Stannis was not the only one to notice the lack of a swell, either. In the last fortnight, he had already heard several whispers. In fact ( _speaking of ladies being married to their uncles_ ) just three days ago he had overheard two ‘ _red apple_ ’[ Fossoways](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Fossoway_of_Cider_Hall),

“... _A gorgeous thing like her, from such a high‘n mighty house?... Think what you may but alliances and power are just as easily made by maidens than by coin or swords. With them you only have a few coins to pay and the slightest amount of blood to spill- that is, if there is any gate to breach.”_

The other man had snorted, before the first had insisted, “ _Why else was she have been sent to a motherhouse? She was_ useless _, nothing more than that. So might as well make a better deal with the Seven in the process_...”

It had taken a few moments for Stannis to realise they had been talking about _Sansa_. Anger surged within him, from their words about _his_ wife. And yet, it hadn’t stopped him from continuing to listen.

“... _The Old Trout didn’t want to lose his alliance with the North. He already nearly lost it once... likely fought tooth’n nail to keep it. Now, instead, he has one daughter the Hand’s wife and the other to marry a prince’s uncle... Probably thought since Baratheon has an heir_ —”

“ _You think_ Ser Robert _a good heir_?” His companion had scoffed.

“ _Not the drunken idiot_ , the girl _\- Tully’s grandchild_.”

“ _But she’s a_ girl.”

“ _Baratheon could always marry her off to his youngest brother_ ,” the other had huffed. “ _The girl is not much younger than him. She’s not the first to wed her uncle, and the Baratheon name remains_.”

“ _The girl is but a child. A lot can happen between now and her wedding any uncle_...”

His mind reeling, unable to hear anymore, Stannis had silently moved away to join Richard and Arstan in the training yard.

All while slamming his sword against another’s weapon the conversation had swirled in his mind. The remarks were absurd... _surely_. Lysa had been more than dishonourable, _yes_ , but Stannis could not believe Lord Tully or the Blackfish would deceive him so. And even if they had, _Cressen_ had confirmed that Sansa was _not_ barren. That her scar or any other past-trouble did not impede in her ability to have children.

 

_And yet... We do our duty often enough_. _Diligently even_.

Sometimes Stannis took Sansa several times on a given night, due to _her_ encouragements. Moreover, Sansa’s brazenness made itself known on more than one occasion in the morning.

_Clearly_ she was as eager for a child as he was.

 

_It would explain her constant visits to the godswood and septs_ … her latest visit just after breaking her fast, according to his steward.

... _as it would explain her pallor this morn_.

His mind flickered to earlier, Sansa’s pale face and her eyes lost in the distance, for him to then think on the few times he had awoken to Sansa shaking against him, mumbling incoherently…

Mayhaps Sansa _was_ overly-troubled by the lack of any news… Worse, mayhaps she had also heard talk, and thought herself broken. Ser Denys had shared his wife’s fears often enough with Jon Arryn for Stannis to know such maidenly concerns were not to be taken lightly.

 

=

 

Her slippers left behind with her maids, her feet and skirt dipped within the sand. Yet they made no sound as Sansa drifted towards shore until she finally touched the wet ground and the lapping water.

The waves drifted closer silently, touching her toes delicately as if not wanting to interrupt her moment of calm. A soft smile forming on her lips, Sansa wiggled her toes in response, and inched her skirts up her calves as small splashes surrounded her. Arching her neck, she looked up to the sun, the sea wind rustling softly through her hair. This felt almost normal. Almost _peaceful_.

Her mind restless yet tired, all at the same time – images haunting her at the worse moments (like when seeing two dragons, each with its own rider, locked together, plummeting down towards a lake below, while she had been in the Sept) - Sansa had retreated to the secluded beach, at the foot of Aegon’s Hill, hoping the sea air would help sooth her.

Out here she could almost forget everything else, make herself believe she didn’t have crazy-scary dreams. That she wasn’t her own scary version of Dorothy. That she was back in the 20th Century.

 

After a long stretch of silence, Sansa turned and moved further back inland until the ground was damp rather than wet. There, not caring for her skirts, or for what she possibly looked like to her guards, she let herself drop to the ground, and scooped sand in her hands. She squeezed it between her fingers. Heavy- _clammy_ , it packed easily.

Without much thought, Sansa started bringing handfuls of sand together, shaping and patting the lot until it was a cylinder, with its edges round and pale and perfect. When it was done, she used the tip of her pinky to poke holes in it for windows. The parapets along the top took a little more care, but when they were done she had a tower. _I need some walls now_ , Sansa thought, _and then a keep_. She set to work.

The castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armoury, the stables along the inside of the west wall.

She used seashells – red, pink and pale alike - to make the trees for the godswood. For the headstones in the graveyard she pinched some sand together. Soon her hand tingled, the crevices of her nails were filled with sand, and her skirts were damp, but Sansa did not care. The castle was all that mattered. She didn’t even ponder on the strangeness of having such a vivid image of a castle in mind... of knowing where all should go... but it all came to her easily, as if she had studied them her whole life.

Mary came closer and watched her for a time, all while checking, _Was m’lady well_? _Did she wish anything_? Sansa shook her head, and went back to shaping the sand.

Another tower rose between her hands, with steep stairs twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge defence walls, the arched gate between them, parapets all along the top... Her buildings continued to grow as fast as she raised them.

Sansa was patting down the pitched roof of the Great Hall when she heard noises…^**

Eyes squinting in the afternoon sun, she looked up to see a handful of riders on the cliff above. They must have noticed her and her little group as well for the next moment horses and riders started to descend the narrow path to reach the beach.

Her guards must have recognised the advancing group – being closer – as they didn’t panic, only straightening. When the men dismounted, one rider – in a white cloak – went to Ser Jaime, while two of the others started walking towards her: a man and a boy.

As they drew closer, Sansa’s mouth turned into a smile– _Ned and Prince Jon_. They looked so similar, even with the twenty years that separated them. So similar to her cousins, her uncle, and her grandfather…

Still, while Ned was solemn, Prince Jon was often times _melancholic_.

Rhaegar looked the part of the perfect prince from fairytales, _yes_ : beautiful and gallant. But Sansa always also saw the sadness that seemed to consume him, every time she was in his presence. _A_ _tortured beauty_. Much like Stannis, the prince didn’t seem to know how to smile, and laugh even less, yet, while Stannis had his scowls, Rhaegar’s violet eyes held a sense of deep sorrow. Dark stormy clouds for Stannis to long raining grey cloud for Prince Rhaegar…

Rainy clouds that his youngest shared.

Which really wasn’t surprising given Prince Jon’s life so far... as well as the direction it would unfold. At times, when the young boy looked out in the distance, Sansa wondered if he was thinking of his mother; the mother he had never known. Just as Sansa constantly thought of her father, her mother... and the rest of her lost family.

_Lyanna Stark_...

While she had lost them at a young age, it was hard for Sansa to imagine never having known either of her parents...

Yet at times it Sansa couldn’t help but feel that wasn’t just Jon, Rhaegar or Ned who missed Lyanna Stark... but Stannis as well.

For all the – _slow_ \- improvements in their marriage, Stannis was just as distant to the children as he had been all those months ago. _Yes_ , some guys just weren’t great with children. And for Edric, _maybe_ , Sansa could somewhat understand him keeping him at arm’s length. But _Shireen_ was _his_ daughter. And, on more than one occasion, Sansa had caught him, his eyes on Rhaegar’s children... especially Jon. Each time she noticed this the questions couldn’t help but circle in her head: Did he secretly wish Jon was his? Did he wish that his child was Lyanna’s, not Lysa’s?... Was that why he barely gave Shireen any attention; not only the fact that she was a girl, but that she was _Lysa’s_ child, not the woman he had planned to marry... _wanted_ to marry.

They had barely spoken of Lysa in the few months they had known each other, but Sansa always felt that Lyanna Stark was even more of a taboo subject... and couldn’t help but wonder why even Ned rarely spoke about his sister.

 

Slightly awkwardly, the thoughts still reeling in her mind, Sansa stood. She brushed her skirts and rubbed her hand together for most of the sand to fall, before meeting their gaze once more.

“Your Grace... Eddard.”

While Ned greeted her in kind, a smile on his face, Prince Jon, shyly, only gave a quick ‘my lady’ in return, before he seemed unable to stop his eyes from going to her structure...

For then his nose to scrunch, pointing out, “It is not fully defended. There is no moat.””

Looking down, Sansa felt her cheek heat, mortified by her rather crucial error, “Oh yes... Well, that- _that_ can be easily fixed... we can dig one. Would you care to help, Prince Jaenerys?”

He looked at her, his mouth slightly open, before the ghost of a smile appeared on his face, his whole head bobbing, adding, “Then we could also add the drawbridges”, leading Sansa to groan a second time internally.

After several long moments working together, digging and building, the moat and bridges were finally complete. Sansa sat back on her heels and admired their work, satisfied. All the same, she worried she had made another mistake and looked over at the young boy. “So, Your Grace, does it meet your satisfaction?”

Prince Jon gave an enthusiastic nod, smiling larger than Sansa had ever seen him. “Yes.”

Beaming, she then looked to Ned. “And what say you, ser? Will the castle hold against attack?”

However, Ned’s eyes were fixed on the fortress, his face pensive. There was a stretched pause before his gaze finally met her, looking… _quizzical_? The next second however he returned to his usual solemn-self and answering, “Aye, very impressive, my lady.”

A strange shiver ran through her to her scar- a strange tension of sorts, as he continued to look at her.

 

Gratefully, it was broken the next moment when Prince Jon stated- _all innocently_ , “Now we just have to imagine all the glorious knights riding in and out of her gateway.”

To which a strange strangled-cough came from Ned, seeming to go into a coughing fit, while Sansa stifled a giggle, biting her lip at the boy’s unintended innuendo.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =
> 
> Ok... these (many) dressed are to give some idea of what Sansa's Dragon Age gowns/wardrobe looks like. (Apologies that there are so many, I just cant decide between them all... and I've already reduced quite a few already. Just love dresses too much ;P )
> 
> [ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/shortsandramblings/media/Dresses-1_zps0cdnl6eb.jpg.html)
> 
> =
> 
> *- Inspired by: ‘ _There was something in his face that reminded Arya of her own father, even though they looked nothing alike. He has a lord’s face, that’s all, she told herself. She remembered hearing her lady mother tell Father to put on his lord’s face and go deal with some matter. Father had laughed at that. She could not imagine Lord Tywin ever laughing at anything._ ’ – Arya, ACoK
> 
> **- Dream sequence greatly inspired, with most parts taken directly, from _A Storm of Swords_ , [Chapter 60](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords-Chapter_60), Tyrion VIII.
> 
> ***- ‘... the sky was a lighter shade of grey. _Dawn_ , she thought. _Another day. Another new day_.’ - Alayne, _ASoS_
> 
> *^ - Readers were probably able to guess but the word that sounds like ‘raisin’ that Stannis actually grumbles is ‘brazen’. ;)
> 
> ^- “Lord Celtigar called it admirable.” / “Had I shown him the contents of my privy, he would have called that admirable as well.” – Stannis // Cheslter being Master of Coin, I would assume Stannis would feel the need/duty to confirm or at least inform him the choice of new lord treasurer, since it is in his ‘sector’.
> 
> ^* - In the ASOIAF, circa[ 291 AC](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Years_after_Aegon%27s_Conquest#Year_291_After_the_Conquest), Gerion Lannister went on a quest to find[ House Lannister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Lannister)'s ancestral[ Valyrian steel](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Valyrian_steel) sword,[ Brightroar](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Brightroar), and any other treasures that might have survived the[ Doom of Valyria](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Doom_of_Valyria). I changed the date/year to late 287/early 288AC. This is to do with the plot and the fact that Cersei Lannister is married to Gerion Lannister. Side note: Gerion’s bastard daughter is Joy Hill.
> 
> ^ **- Caste building sequence greatly inspired, with certain parts taken directly from _A Storm of Swords_ , [Chapter 80](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords-Chapter_80), Sansa VII, when Sansa/Alayne builds a snow castle


	39. PART III, Chapter 9 - Ignorance is Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE thank you to [Sarah_Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black) for looking through/helping with this latest chapter.

 

The near-silent yawn – _or really_ , the _suppressed_ yawn – coming from the other end of the room, brought a yawn out of Sansa as well. Covering her mouth and shaking her head from drowsiness, Sansa straightened herself on the fauteuil and looked up to the desk; Stannis was hunched over his desk, brooding over the ledger in front of him. Her gaze went from his large form, to the view from the balcony – the sun too high to be seen – and back to Stannis again.

“Stannis, join me for lunch.”

“ _Later_.” The one word - mumbled - was apparently deemed enough, Stannis not bothering to look up.

Sansa frowned. She knew for a fact he had not eaten since dawn, as well as having barely slept. He hadn’t been in their bed when she had first fallen asleep last night. And then she had woken him; her heart thumping, images of a green inferno having wrenched her out of her own sleep as well as him.

Sansa had let the combined efforts of his low and soothing voice, his large hand rubbing her back, the lemon water, and the cool night air calm her… all while circumventing his questions and concerns. He had still been awake when she had found further comfort in his strong arms, to fall asleep dreaming of Winterfell- of a memory from her childhood; an early snow at Winterfell... _Arya and Jon ambushing her with snowballs… Sansa chasing Arya… nearly catching her, but instead slipping on some ice... Arya’s face above her, checking if she was hurt… Sansa shaking her head… Arya hitting her in the face with another snowball… Sansa grabbing her leg and pulling Arya down, to rub snow in her hair… Jon pulling them apart, laughing_ *…

 

Her first thought when waking up had been, _Home. It was a dream of home_.* The memory had been wonderful, so full of warmth and solace, that Sansa found herself once more smiling softly at the reminiscence.

And yet, early this morning, it had been dampened by her second thought, when realising Stannis wasn’t lying beside her. His side of the bed had been so cool to the touch that Sansa was doubtful he had fallen back asleep since her nightmare. She had found him already cleaned, shaved and dressed, at his desk, even though the sun was just barely over the horizon. He had been in the same position when she had returned, bathed and dressed herself, sometime later. The only change had been the plate at the edge of the table, containing the core of an apple and a few crumbs.

_At the most he’s eaten a fruit and a slice of pie since dawn..._

_... That is if he didn’t give some to Darcy_. Sansa’s eyes drifted down to the overgrown puppy at Stannis’ feet.

Judging by the wagging of his tail, it seemed that at least Mr Darcy was looking forward to food.

 

_Well_ , if anything, it was Stannis’ fault she was here to nag him. He was the one who had invited – _insisted_ that she work on her own letters and accounts _here_ , in his solar, while he continued with his own tasks.

She knew why he had done so, of course. The nightmares... as well her pallour and the circles under her eyes when greeting him this morning. Sansa was actually surprised Stannis hadn’t pressed her further about last night… or even the night before…

Or perhaps he was waiting for her to share her troubles with him?

Sansa shook her head. It wasn't the time to think of her dark dreams.

It was time to make sure her husband didn’t over-exert himself because of some Crazy Dragon King. Lips tight, she insisted, “it’s midday– _past_ midday, Stannis. You need sustenance to keep going- to help you concentrate. An empty stomach can’t be doing you much good.”

Beneath his heavy brow, he gave her a stare as if to remind her, ‘ _you’re not my nursemaid_ ’, before his eyes returned to the large book.

Holding in a small groan, Sansa tried one last time. “A break is good. It helps clear your mind.”

A huff was her only response.

_Fine_.

Instead of pushing further, Sansa stood up and moved to her chambers. There, she called her maids to bring the platters that had already been prepared. Full with tarts, cold meats, cheeses, bread, fruits and nuts, at least her ladies had obviously expect that they- _or_ Sansa… _and Mr Darcy_ , would want to eat at some point. Leading them, she returned to Stannis’ solar. While the three women’s clear looks of concern made it obvious that they had qualms about entering _Lord Big and Muscly_ ’s space, Sansa just continued as if all was perfectly normal, indicating the table for the dishes to be placed on. Only once the food had been put down and the ladies dismissed did she turn to face her obstinate husband.

 

“If you refuse to stop working, we will discuss, together, whatever work has you so engrossed, while we eat,” Sansa stated, her voice firm.

 

=

 

Stannis' teeth ground silently, as he placed the quill in its inkwell.

Mayhaps it would help to share the issues with the tourney with Sansa.

His wife’s council was as good as any other. In addition to her other competences in running a keep, when they had discussed the state of the city’s roads and drainage, Sansa had been percipient in her suggestions: digging the trenches lower in the ground, on either side, with covers above, instead of the open gutters that currently trailed in the middle of each street, to help manage the smell and draining better.**

If nothing else, just discussing it - talking about the issues aloud - would help think on possible solutions.

 

Nevertheless, in addition to having already gone over the different issues with the Small Council, it wasn’t the damn tourney Stannis wanted to discuss with Sansa. Presently, he was more concerned with his _wife_ , rather than the ill-brained pageantry His Grace was insisting on.

She had lied to him last night, pleading foolish nightmares instead of confiding in him. Stannis was certain her troubles had been more than mere dreams. _Aye_ , she had calmed and had fallen back asleep. Yet, while Sansa’s face had gained colour since this morn, her worries were still very much etched on her face: pale, her smiles strained, slight circles under her eyes… While working, Stannis had been aware of each time she had looked up from her work, of each time her gaze had drifted away into the distance, to the source of her distress.

Nonetheless, Sansa continued to keep her troubles from him, choosing to harp on about _food_ as if that were a sufficient alternative.

_He_ was her husband.

This irked Stannis further. How could he put her at ease if she did not tell him her fears first? Was she not the one who had criticized _him_ several times for not ‘ _talking and sharing_ ’? In truth, Stannis was now uncertain how to go about reassuring her without first chastising her for the foolishness of not confiding in him.

Yet, he knew he couldn’t very well force her to confess. Sansa would most likely only pull back and close off.

In any case, when he finally rose from his chair and moved to her side, Sansa beamed at him, her eyes and smile brighter, and Stannis did not care to sour her mood so soon.

 

“So, what has you so disgruntled?”

_You_. Instead of saying so, Stannis sat and took a thick slice of bread, taring a piece from it, before he revealed, “The tourney. His Grace is continually pushing its _grandeur_.”

Sansa quirked her lips. “What is so wrong with a _grand_ tourney? Knights, all in their shining armour, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the field unsung freeriders and newly-made squires; young men who have yet to do great deeds and prove their worth... Lest we forget the lords and ladies, the shouts of the crowd, meeting people from all over, banners snapping in the wind... Summer has just started; it is time for celebrations, song and dance, warm summer nights...”***

It sounded like a song, coming from her lips. Sansa could have been her sister then— _the_ younger one, _not_ Lysa. She sounded so wistful, her eyes distant, this time full of animation and enthusiasm rather than worry. In this moment, Stannis was reminded that his young wife had most likely never been to a tourney before; the concept was novel and exciting to her, like a lad holding his first sword.

Stannis was tempted to hold the truth of it all from her, to not ruin the illusion.

And yet, Sansa wasn’t a child. And songs were only for children and fools.*^

“Yes, your shining knights, your lords and ladies are all resplendent, but for every knight we get two freeriders, three craftsmen, six men-at-arms, a dozen merchants, two dozen whores, and more thieves than I dare guess***... I have yet to think on those who come to watch,” Stannis grumbled.

Nor did Stannis want to think of what other lords and ladies would think of Aerys. The tourney was a distraction for both His Grace and the populace, yet more would see the increasingly worrying madness plaguing their King.

“There is also the ‘good fortune’ of being summer; ‘ _warm summer nights’_ you say. I say _hot summer days_. There’s nought like a tourney to make the blood run hot, already. If we are lucky there will only be the making of bastards to deal with, but I already contemplate fires, riots, fights, drunken races down the streets... drownings…***

The need for more guards is just another cost, in addition to the prizes, the pavilions and various tourney grounds, as well as the feasts and animations – which means cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools…*** The greater to the tournament, the higher the risk of accidents and mishaps... Only to also increase problems for King's Landing rather than add profit to the city or crown... except for thieves, merchants and brothel-keepers...”

 

=

 

When Stannis finally finished listing all that could possibly go wrong, Sansa’s eyes were wide and her mouth gaping.

The more he said, the more he put a downer on it all.

_Well, I did ask for it_ …

While she knew the organisation was not simple, Sansa had been looking forward to seeing an actual tourney. It was ‘ _Olympic Games: Dragon Age version_ ’. Several hundred beefy-men prancing around on horses, with lances and swords (Mary had assured her that all weapons were blunt in tournaments), as an alternative to athletes, while spectators came to support their _House_ rather than their country, meet people from other regions, and have a good time.

Now Sansa was reminded of the many troubles of the last few games; ranging from the inevitable - delays, security problems, organisational issues, city disruptions, doping scandals, behavioural troubles, to the less expected and more unwanted riots and protests, unpaid workers, air and water pollution…

 

Her brows furrowed together.

“Well… There will always be robberies. The same goes for drunks and idiots. But you can reduce their numbers, as well as those paying for others’ foolishness. The location obviously can’t be inaccessible... but maybe it would best if out the way of those just getting on with their lives. In a city there’s more of a risk of innocent parties getting hurt. An empty plot of land could be better... a field not in use, for which the landowner would be compensated. One sufficiently far off to not bother the castle or town too much, but close enough for those coming for the day’s entertainment and returning to the inns at night. Hopefully no one would try to find them while drunk… As for the money, you could always have some kind of entrance fee.”

Noticing Stannis’ brows rising at the suggestion, Sansa expanded, “People tend to want things that are more exclusive; selectivity makes it more tempting. Plus, the fee would help reduce the number of ‘extra’ followers, and allow a better control on who actually comes. Robbers will still be there, but in lesser numbers… There could even be a fee for each tent pitched for those remaining day and night, reducing further a knight or lord’s entourage, and it would profit the inns, for those unwilling to pay the added costs. As for merchants: a pre-entrance fee as well as a small percentage on the overall amount of money made from the celebrations. If they are going to make a profit from it, might as well insure the crown get a percentage, no?... And... _hum_... and you could do the same for brothel-keepers: charge them a percentage of commission, or charge them for each… each, _hum_ -woman or man they bring with them, to reduce _their_ numbers.”

 

There was a pause. Stannis looked at her, his face giving nothing away. If he was considering some of her ideas... or was perturbed by her talking about prostitutes he didn't say.

Getting slightly nervous, Sansa couldn't help but add,“... Plus getting people out of King's Landing for a few weeks helps with the construction work; less people to complain about roadblocks.”

The silence stretched on. His knife still hovered over the cold meat on his plate, his eyes now looking nowhere in particular, all while Stannis kept on thinking.

 

Finally he faced her, “Your ideas hold merit.”

Perhaps Sansa’s smile grew too quickly, as Stannis then quickly added, “they need revising and development... but, yes, they warrant proper consideration.”

 

 

 

**=**

 

 

 

Sansa’s stitches were crooked. _Again_.

She frowned at them with dismay. This was the third time this week. At _nine_ she had done better. Normally, her needlework was exquisite. She took pride in her work; just as she did in her writing, her poetry, her singing... That was just who she was; she just wanted everything to be just right... _perfect_.

Unfortunately, ‘ _normally_ ’ had flown out the window these last weeks. _Normally_ Sansa did not have crazy-scary dreams that made her dread closing her eyes... Both Mary and Maester[ Frenken](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Frenken) had asked if Sansa needed a small dose of[ dreamwine](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dreamwine).

 

Then again, _normally_ she wouldn’t be in the _Dragon Age_ , sewing with other ladies.

 

Sansa studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, only to sigh and put the needle down. She glanced furtively across the room to the other ladies.

Lady Leyla seemed jovial, chatting away with her companions, soft giggles coming from the trio every so often. Sansa assumed they were discussing babies. Leyla looked more than happy, truly; she was _glowing_. On the other hand, only fifteen and just as petite as her mother, Sansa was concerned by the huge baby bump that looked as if it was about to burst at any moment. Sansa couldn’t help but hope that Leyla would be all right when the baby arrived, all while reminding herself that Lady[ Arwyn Oakheart](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Arwyn_Oakheart) had _several_ sons, in addition to Leyla, even with the _tiny_ , _delicate_ frame both mother and daughter shared.

Then again, Sansa also thought of Lyanna Stark – barely sixteen - having died giving birth to Prince Jon, and of Lysa and her baby having died while he was being born.

A shiver went through Sansa.

 

Her gaze shifted, only to find two of the [Buckwell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Buckwell) ladies’ eyes quickly looking away from her.

Sansa frowned. From their furtive looks, she was certain they had being looking in her direction... at _her_.

Growing self-conscious, all while reminding herself that she had also been studying the other ladies - the act innocent - Sansa stopped herself from pulling a lock of hair behind her ear, worried there was something on her that had caught their attention. She couldn’t help but wonder- _worry_ , if she looked as pale and tired as she felt. She rarely put makeup on, even less so in the Dragon Age, where ladies didn’t know about mascara, concealer, and lipstick, but at this moment Sansa regretted not having put any on this morning, after Stannis had left for the council meeting.

Truthfully, this wasn’t the first time she had felt as others watching her. _Yes_ , being Lady Baratheon, Sansa _was_ getting used to being a mild curiosity – _I mean, my dresses alone attract a certain level of attention_. And yet, recently, the glances felt different, seemed to have... _shifted_ in their reason.

And the only reason that came to mind was the same one Stannis was becoming intent on pulling out of her: her troubled sleep.

 

Her mind no longer on sewing or any ‘womanly activity’, nor wanting to converse with the other women about how pale she looked, Sansa decided to go visit the godswood. At least there if she had a nightmarish vision, her pallor would not be witnessed. One could also hope the outdoors would calm her before her luncheon.

Decided, Sansa stood and bid the group farewell. Only to feel several stares on her back as she moved to the door and out of the solar.

 

**.**

 

“Are you looking forward to the tournament, Lady Sansa?”

 

Taking another bite from the lemon tart, Sansa thought on yesterday and her time with Stannis. They had spent rest of the day looking over the details of the tourney, going over the various ideas and problems each suggested. Even during dinner, Stannis had continued to discuss several issues with Jon Arryn and Ned, while Sansa had spent time with Edmure, Shireen and Edric, her mind ready to explode.

The council meeting dealing with the tourney had started early this morning. Was it still going on? Was it going well– _or, in other words_ , did King Crazy approve of some of the proposals brought forth?

Turning to her afternoon companion, Sansa replied with a slightly forced smile, calling on some of her initial enthusiasm and first remarks about the event less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Of course, Lord Baelish. I haven’t yet been to one. I’m looking forward to seeing all the knights in their best blazons, meeting lords and ladies from different Houses. The feasts, the music, the dancing... what could be better?”

“Indeed, what could be better,” he returned, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Sansa could only assume Lord _Wannabe-Strange_ knew a few of the less appealing parts of tournaments as well. His gaze and smile going to Shireen playing with the wooden doe he had gifted her earlier, he asked, “Will Lady Shireen also be joining?”

“His Grace was generous enough to invite Shireen as a companion to Princess Rhaenys,” Sansa supplied, her insides somewhat shaken by the idea. “And you, Lord Baelish, will you be attending the tournament?”

“Alas, I most likely will be unable to.”

“ _Oh_? How come?” Her concern and the dimming of her smile were only half-genuine. Honestly, Sansa was only slightly dismayed by Petyr Baelish’s possible absence.

All the more amiable and having obviously noticed she was somewhat lonely since the Tullys and the Arryns had departed, _Wannabe-Strange_ had occasionally invited Edmure, Shireen and herself, as well as Brynden, for luncheons. Today the young princes had invited Edmure to join them in the training yard, and Brynden had departed after the meal had ended - an unexpected issue having arisen - but Shireen and herself had continued to enjoy the nice weather, royal gardens, and Lord Baelish’s genial company. Still, as kind as he had been in the past months, Sansa was more looking forward to spending time with _Cat_ during the tourney… as well as possibly pushing for further interactions between Ned and Cat.

“I will have matters to attend to in the capital; all the more pity the tourney isn’t held here.”

Before Sansa could ask how he knew if the tourney was to be held in King’s Landing or not, she noticed a group of ladies behind Baelish - past Ser Jaime and her two Baratheon guards, at the end of the small pathway - glancing at her, as they passed by the garden alcove.

She bit back a groan. It seemed everywhere she went, either her dreams or people’s ogling were resolved to dampen her mood.

“It's the stares, isn't it?”

Sansa blinked, her head snapping back to _Wannabe-Strange_. He was looking at her with concern, having evidently noticed her brief distraction. Shifting, her hands smoothed over the non-existent wrinkles of her skirts. “S-stares?”

Baelish quirked an eyebrow. His smile turned to one halfway between sympathy and ‘ _don't try pulling that on me_ ’.

Feeling even more self-conscious, Sansa looked back towards the gardens. The group of ladies was out of sight now.

Baelish briefly followed her gaze, before he spoke, “My lady, there is talk...” his eyes shifted to Shireen, still fully engrossed with her toy, before continuing, in a lower - uncertain - voice, “... some believe you are barren.”

Sansa, who had tilted her head closer, pulled back, blinking several times. Her mouth gaped. Her hands and eyes went instinctively to her stomach. _Barren_?

Her thoughts turned to this morning. She had been looking at Lady Leyla, eight months pregnant, and then noticing the [Buckwell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Buckwell) women staring at _her_. Their relation, Lady Falena, had had another son – as the twenty-year-old had hoped – three weeks ago…

_Sons_. _Children_. _Babies_.

Sansa’s own eyes went to Shireen. Feeling the gaze, the little girl looked up, dark-blue eyes meeting mismatched ones. The little girl gave Sansa her shy yet ever-heartwarming smile, before her attention inevitably returned to the wooden toy.

_Why does everything always have to revert back to babies—_ sons _above all else_?

 

Stannis’ face then - _of course_ \- appeared in her mind.

While their marriage was going well, there were two major things Sansa was keeping from him.— _Well three_. Not wanting kids straight away (especially not until they resolved his issue with Shireen... and Lyanna). Her nightmares. And being from the future.

Unfortunately, for all three Sansa was unequivocally at a loss on how to broach the subject. It wasn't like she could say, _Heyyy Stannis, you know the one thing you’ve wanted since we first met: kids…_ heirs _... well, I’m not ready to have some just yet... oh, and by the way, I’m getting these super freaky nightmares... and I’m from the future_. _All good_?

Just as she wasn't sure how to bring up the subject of Shireen (and Lysa)... as well as Lyanna Stark.

 

“I do not believe you are barren, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa’s head snapped back up, meeting Petyr Baelish’s grey-green eyes.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he had somehow read her thoughts as he pressed on, “You aren’t, are you? It is more the fact that you are happy only being a doting aunt… and whyever not, to such a sweet young lady.” His gaze moving down to Shireen.

Her own gaze going between Shireen and Baelish, Sansa tried to find her words, her hands wringing together, “Of course not… Shireen is wonderful. Why would I not want children of my own?… th-these things, they just take time... sometimes.”

“Yes, I know how much you care and dote on Shireen and Edmure, and even the boy, Edric. You have a tender heart my lady, just like your sisters. Which is what has me all the more concerned. I can see that it is not the idea of children that has you so… _out of sorts_...” he leaned even closer, his voice even lower and uneasy, “... is… is it Lord Baratheon? Has he… has he been cruel? Many talk of him being a hard man.”

Sansa rushed in to defend Stannis, “ _No_ , no. Lord Baratheon is…”

Her voice faltered. _Kind_ wasn't enough. _Caring and considerate_ was true, but it seemed odd to say so to someone who didn’t know Stannis as well as her.

Then again, her own knowledge of Stannis was still missing several key pieces.

 

“... scarred by his past.” Baelish finished the sentence for her, as if once more reading the darker parts of her mind.

Sansa blinked at him, before her eyes shifted to her fingers, pale and knotted together in her lap.

It was silly, but it had taken a ridiculously long time for Sansa to recognise another - _crucial_ \- source to Stannis’ adversity to the tourney. It had only been today, when she had been walking through the godswood that the _Tourney of Harrenhal_ jolted in her thick brain.

Yesterday, while Sansa had been going on about tents and open-fields, Stannis had most likely been thinking about gorgeous, dashing princes riding up to Lyanna Stark and placing a crown of roses on her head.

_No wonder he was so grim and focused through the whole day_.

 

“Lysa was always like a sister to me. When she wed, I wished her a joyful and fructuous marriage, as any caring brother would. I still remember the young girl in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been^…” Lord Petyr turned pensive, looking out to the bay; _melancholy_ , really, as he continued, “Lysa always knew her duty; knew she would marry as your father commanded. She accepted it when Hoster announced she was to wed a Stormlord instead of the Stark heir. In fact, Lysa confided in me that she was relieved to not marry ‘ _the northerner’_. The North always seemed a dark, cold place to her. As for Stark, she found him wild and hot-tempered, and had already heard rumours of bastards. On the other hand, her new southern betrothed was supposed to be just and dutiful...”

There was a pause, his gaze going from the view, to Shireen and then to Sansa, full of concern.

“Lord Baratheon was dutiful, _yes_... but it became evident that while a marriage to Stark would have been filled with _too much_ passion, her marriage to Baratheon was built _too much_ on duty… The light dimmed with each word she wrote; she barely spoke of him, from what your father and Cat told me from her infrequent news. And then, when they came to King’s Landing, to retrieve Edmure…” His voice was troubled now, “The Lysa who came was not the same girl who went south with her new husband. You may not remember her from your youth, Sansa, but she had been a pretty girl; dimpled and delicate, with long auburn hair. Mayhaps, slightly timid. But five years were cruel on Lysa. Two babes stillborn, twice as many miscarriages… The gods gave Lysa only _one_ child. Small wonder she doted on her little girl when she finally had her; she was all she had^,” the statement finishing softer, his eyes on Shireen.

 

“ _How could she hope to compete with a ghost_?” The words were just above a whisper that Sansa nearly missed them.

Petyr looked to her then; his bright grey-green eyes full of... _sorrow_? Before he seemed to register what- _who_ was in front of with him.

He righted himself, clearing his voice with an awkward cough. His voice was harder when he added, “None of the Tullys went to Harrenhal. Lysa had assumed, like her betrothal and many before her’s, that the match between Baratheon and Lyanna was a political one… Her mistake became greater when she prayed- _hoped_ his feelings would fade in time, or at least ease enough for him to finally open up to _her_ as well. The Seven know Lysa tried many times to give him a son, hoping- _believing_ that an heir would help. Truthfully, I think she even concluded that it was worse that the only child she was able to give him was not only a daughter, but that she had your sister’s look, another reminder that the mother wasn’t his chosen bride.”^*

 

The silence that followed felt as heavy and cold as a giant block of ice.

Sansa wondered if she should say anything. Yet, no words came to mind; Petyr’s memories were a gloomy echo of some of her own worries.

The inhabitants of Storm’s End had never said much of Lysa, yet the little Sansa got had never been favorable. But it was important to remember there were two sides to every story. And until she had come to King’s Landing Sansa had only received Stannis’ side.

Cat missed her sister. Although he had been much younger, Edmure also missed his oldest sister. While only three, it was obvious Shireen missed her mother...her only true parental presence.

 

A sudden squeal broke the stillness.

Sansa turned to find Shireen distracted from her toy; all her attention was now on a black cat at her feet. _Balerion_. Princess Rhaenys’ pet.

And to confirm his identity further, the sound of giggles called for Sansa to look down the flowery path, to find the young princess racing down it (in not the most ladylike fashion), with Princess Elia following at a much more subdued pace, while Ser[ Jonothor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jonothor_Darry) remained by Jaime Lannister’s side at the other end.

 

While Sansa was glad for the interruption, she was also disheartened that _Elia_ was the source of her rescue. Not that there was anything wrong with Her Grace. If anything, Elia was kind and clever, a considerate woman with a rather amusing wit. Definitely less fake than some of the other women of court. ^**

And yet, with her presence, Petyr’s words rang all the more in Sansa’s mind.

The ghost of Lyanna Stark seemed to solidify.

Rhaegar did appear to care for Elia. Their marriage could be believed to be better than most— _definitely_ better than King Crazy and his sister-wife’s one had been. And yet there was a vast difference between _caring_ and _love_.

Sansa knew why they had married; she didn’t even need her history lessons to know. _Duty_. The word always felt cold upon hearing it.^**

All the stories and films from her childhood related that Rhaegar married Elia because it was expected, and Lyanna for _love_... And yet, it was Elia who remained, and Lyanna who died giving him his third and final child.

Sansa couldn’t help but believe that their marriage would have been a lot better if Lyanna Stark hadn’t come between them...

… just as she couldn’t help but wonder whether Lyanna was not only the wedge in Rhaegar and Elia’s marriage but also in Stannis and Lysa’s... and possibly in her own.

Stannis had married Lysa for duty. He had married _her_ for duty. Would marrying Lyanna have been for _duty_ , or _love and duty_?^**

 

The rising of the figure next to her jolted Sansa back to the present. Swiftly she also stood and curtsied, welcoming the princess, “Your Grace.”

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

The early training session helped Stannis wake up. It was also a welcome distraction from the different matters that preoccupied his mind. Still, his body had become weary with each new fight and his duties were no closer to being resolved.

Even his talk with Sansa had been once more pushed back last night. He knew she had visited a maester in the morn. Yet she had not waited for him, already asleep when Stannis had joined her. When he had awoken this morning, Stannis had thought about staying longer, waiting for her to wake so they might break their fast together, but he had promised to meet his men in the training yard. He needed to speak with them about yesterday’s events.

While the others stayed out in the yard, once he had trained and talked with his men, Stannis headed for the bathhouse. He took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off before immersing himself, up to the chin, in a stone tub full of steaming water. The warmth soaked into his muscles, taking some of the ache away.

 

As his eyes closed, images of the previous days came to mind.

The meeting yesterday had gone well. Even Aerys had been for the most part pleased with the ideas Stannis and others had brought forth. However, the tourney was now to last a fortnight, with a joust, a seven-sided melee in the ancient style, an archery contest, an axe-throwing contest, a horse race… a ‘ _tourney_ of _singers_ ’,  several murmmer shows…

And there was the fact that His Grace had not been convinced by either one of the locations Stannis offered, or any of those from the other advisors.

“ _They do not showcase the greatness of House Targaryen_.”

At least Stannis was thankful (just as he was convinced Rhaegar was also relieved) that Aerys had passed over the idea of having another grand tournament at Harrenhal.

_Harrenhal_... Stannis rarely attended tourneys and hadn’t been to any since Harrenhal. He hadn’t even participated in the games then. Stannis had left it to Robert to ‘ _bring glory_ ’ to House Baratheon, as his brother described it. Robert had done well, yes... but for every tilt he had won, there had been the drinking games, the whores, the punch from Lyanna Stark*—

Stannis’ jaw twitched, his eyes opening, finding the ceiling above his head.

 

_Tourneys_. Stannis’ throat tightened some. He had only ever participated in a couple, mostly as a squire rather than a rider. He hadn’t participated in any since the one at Storm's End. Eddard had been there, as had Robert, and even Renly, barely one in their mother’s arms. Lord[ Mallister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jason_Mallister), Prince[ Oberyn](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Oberyn_Martell), Lord[ Leyton Hightower](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Leyton_Hightower), Connington... Rhaegar and members of the kingsguard...

Lord Steffon Baratheon.

His father had pushed him to participate. He had even suggested Robert be his squire for the tournament, but Stannis had changed to Arstan when his brother had missed the start of training twice in a row. It had been Barristan, Arstan’s great-nuncle, who had unhorsed him in the end, as the kingsguard had done with all other participants, winning the tournament.

Still, Stannis had gained his knighthood by its end. And though Eddard hadn’t participated, his father had found it amusing to knight him as well, especially once Stark had explained Northerners rarely knighted each other.

Stannis’ mouth twitched at the memory. Before his thoughts moved to Aerys.

His Grace encouraged him to join the coming tourney. Only yesterday he had spoken of the tourney also being to celebrate Stannis’ appointment as Hand, him being kin to the king. _‘Mine own nephew_ ’.

If Stannis won he would naturally crown Sansa, it went without saying; she was his wife.

_She would look beautiful with a crown of flowers in her hair_.

Yet, as tempting as the thought was, the champion would be another. He would have too much to think on to participate in the joust—

“... brought up by _septas_ …”

Stannis jolted. The soft voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling brought him back to the bathhouse.

“... prays all bloody day, I’ve seen her, that red hair shining in the sun, going to and from the sept…”

Stannis scowled. More talk of _his_ wife, questioning her abilities. With only his head coming out, bobbing above the water, his head against the bath’s rim, those speaking had evidently not noticed him through the steam.

“... Aye, bloody pious and dutiful, but have you not seen _him_. When is the last time you’ve seen the man smile. Men respect him, aye, but most also fear him. His scowl alone has boys cowering, their small peckers shrinking back up their arses...”

Stannis stopped cold at the words, his jaw clenching.

“... Do you think any maiden would fall for such a man? Girls that naive and clueless dream of pretty knights…”

Stannis had been ready to rise - make his presence known and do more than glare at the men - but now he remained frozen, all while the water continued to heat his skin.

“... she’s been locked up with shrivelled old hags bleating about the Faith. T’is no wonder she loves her songs and stories: an escape from a wretched fate… I say, she better hope getting with child soon, before one of her _gallant knights_ shows her his ‘ _pretty smile_ ’ in the godswood…”

They were not questioning Sansa’s _abilities_ , but her _honour_.

His temper rising, his jaw throbbing, Stannis shifted silently, and peeked over the rim of the tub. The two men were half hidden behind columns at the other end of the steamy room. Closer was the back of one, hair blonde, near white. With such a mane, it was likely the man-at-arms who often trained with Connington. As for the other, Stannis noted the hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, triangular brown beard and narrow cheeks as well as the black hair on his muscled chest... certain he had seen him before, though unable to place him; most likely another man-at-arms.

This second one’s mouth quirked, “... one of the maids talked of her ladyship leaving her slippers, and strolling, her feet bare, on the sand... dipping them into the water. Can't blame them guards for enjoying the view…”

Stannis’ jaw twitched, again, as he turned back around and sunk further into the water.

Both his sentry and Eddard had related Prince Jaenerys and his friend having met Sansa on the beaches below the Red Keep - a place she visited often in the last few weeks, always coming back with flecks of sand in her hair (making him think of her mermaid princess). This latest visit had been somewhat peculiar from Eddard’s and the young prince’s appearances, as well as his friend’s odd demeanor. Eddard had been preoccupied by the strangest matters: Sansa’s motherhouse - its location - to then ask about any possible interests in castles and battlements... Yet his friend had failed to mention anything about _bare feet._

No wonder they talked of seductions in the godswood – clearly his young wife was still in need of lessons about ladylike comportment and proprietary... and perhaps she would benefit from a reminder about how the minds of some men worked. Stannis knew he should not have indulged her eccentricities and brazenness.

But surely one of his own men would not dare use Sansa’s naive, benevolent spirit to their own advantage?

Yet even as the question raged in his mind, another face appeared: _Ser Jaime Lannister_ , tall, young, handsome, ever guarding his young wife, who loved songs and stories… _even when apparently barefoot in the sand_.^***

 

=

 

Sansa was a coward.

She had pretended to be asleep last night. And again this morning.

Her eyes closed and her breath as even as possible, she had been acutely aware of Stannis removing his clothes and joining her on the other side of the bed. Just as he had climbed out at dawn this morning and went to his own chambers to dress and ready for the day ahead.

In reality, she had barely slept. As tired as Sansa had been- _still_ _was_ , her mind had reeled over too many thoughts: possibilities of having nightmares, of Stannis waking up and ultimately demanding in his lording-way a real explanation, of Sansa’s own wanted explanations about Shireen, which would also lead to the subject of Lysa... and Lyanna, on her side, and kids, on his.

When she had risen herself, Sansa had barely ate, before dressing simply in a pale grey gown, with only her father’s ring around her neck and Stannis’ on her finger as ornamentation/decoration/embellishment, before heading for the godswood. The last of the morning dew had still been clinging to the leaves and grass, the early rays of sun making the trees around her seem alive. The godswood was empty, as it usually was here in the south. Even Ned was absent; _probably somewhere with Stannis_.

It was quiet, peaceful. The thick walls shut out the noises of the castle. She could hear birds singing, the murmur of crickets, leaves rustling in a gentle wind. While the heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, Sansa felt the North here... felt Winterfell, and her grandfather, her mother, Uncle Creg, Jon and Stann, Arya...

Even her mind seemed to calm some. She would rather be troubled by memories of her past, rather than nightmares.

... _Or stares_. Now that she knew what their meaning Sansa cared even less for them.

 

Still, as the sun rose, the air warmed and the breeze calmed, and the grass and leaves dried. Even the wood’s critters seemed to calm from their energetic wake. And the red vines seemed not only to coil round the faceless southern tree but around Sansa as well. Her legs were stiff, from sitting too long, and her back ached - her scar throbbing - from the bark and in [smokeberries](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Smokeberry) digging into her spine.

In any case, it wasn’t like she could just sit here and hide forever.

Sore and worn, Sansa stood and slowly started her way back through the trees.

 

Nearing the entrance, Sansa looked up for her eyes to fall on the tall, white figure waiting. _Ser Jaime_.

A buzz – similar to a maddening bee in her ear - reminded Sansa that _he_ had been at Harrenhal. He had gotten his white cloak during the tourney. The dramatic opening scene of ‘ _The Kingslayer_ ’ had shown it; Nikolaj Coster-Waldau had had shoulder-length hair (and quite a bit more make-up) to make him look younger and differentiate him from the older, short-haired, disillusioned kingsguard who killed his king later on in the film.

Her steps even slower, Sansa wondered if she could- _should_ to talk to him about it; discuss Harrenhal without making it obvious what she wanted to actually know about ( _Stannis and the Starks... Stannis and Lyanna... Lyanna and Rhaegar_...). _Not-So-Golden Boy_ had no affinity to Stannis, the Starks or Tullys, even really Rhaegar apart from being a member of the kingsguard. Any question she would ask, he would be undoubtedly less biased about.

But it wasn’t like she could charge right into the subject and blurt out, “ _Harrenhal. Your thoughts_?”

Looking at the real ‘ _kingslayer_ ’ now, moving in his direction, it was strange to realise that, however much he followed Sansa around since her arrival (as well as her knowing so much about him and his future), they rarely spoke; Sansa did not actually _know **him**_.

 

Sansa looked to his tall form and licked her lips anxiously, before willing a smile as she stepped closer and addressed him, “Ser Jaime.”

He blinked, once.

Before he gave her a slight tilt of the head, “my lady.”

“Would... would you mind walking next to me?”

The look on Ser Jaime’s face would have been comical under other circumstances. His eyes momentarily widened and his brows rose, as if she had asked if he could run around the court naked, for then just stare at her, clearly at a loss.

Trying to make her smile more warm and friendly, Sansa elaborated, “I find it strange that we are peers; both issues of great lords - the Warden of the East, and the Lord Paramount of the Trident – and yet we barely say five words to each other at a given time... instead you follow me, most likely bored to tears, to trips to merchants and visits to septs and gardens.”

Ser Jaime continued to look at Sansa curiously, before he evidentially decided to indulge her fanciful mood and moved forward his step in line with hers.

With the tiny victory, Sansa started to slowly lead them to the castle’s gardens.

 

Deliberating, thinking on the letters she had written recently – the two to her ‘family’ in Riverrun, and another one for Renly - Sansa could only assume Ser Jaime rarely got to visit his father and castle since becoming bodyguard to King Crazy.

“Do you write to your father?” she inquired, hoping the question innocent enough.

The probing in his green eyes continued, yet _Not-So-Golden Boy_ gave a nod, “On occasion. Though, I tend to write to my sister or my brother more.”

Sansa nose scrunched ever-so-slightly, reminded of ‘Cersei Lannister’. Since first mentioning the _Wizard of Oz_ , Jocelyn had tended to refer to the lady as the ‘ _Wicked Witch of the West’_. From that ‘stellar review’ Sansa didn’t really want to talk about her. So instead, she inquired with interest, “You have a brother?”

His brows twitched for a moment – probably wondering how she didn’t already know, before possibly also remembering she had been cloistered in a motherhouse most of her life - “Aye, _Tyrion_. He is a few years younger: six-and-ten.”

Sansa’s brain stuttered – _T-Tyrion... Tyrion Lannister. The Imp of Casterly Rock._

 

It was only at the sound of Jaime’s voice that Sansa realised she had whispered it out loud.

Her eyes blinking back up at him, Sansa quickly noticed his twitching jaw, something she had come to identify from Stannis often enough.

Sansa realised Ser Jaime had most likely thought her disparaging his brother because of his small stature. But all she wanted to do then was say that he had it all _wrong_ ; Sansa wasn’t critical towards his brother, but _stunned_. _Tyrion Lannister_ was one of the most famous writers of the Dragon Age— _of_ _all time_. He was considered one of the _first_ auto-biographers. _The Imp of Casterly Rock_ was the title to his memoires. Historians – professional and amateurs alike (Grandpa Ben being the later) - even now continued to use his texts as reference.

And then, just as swiftly, Sansa froze.

Her mouth stopped the words not yet out of her mouth. Her eyes went nowhere in particular. Or really, they went to her grandfather’s library, to books arranged close together floor to ceiling bookcases... to her own tiny library, in her university room, filled with books of fashion and literature...

_By all the Gods_ , she had been— _was_ an _idiot_.

_Of course_...

Yes, she hadn’t yet read all his stuff: only the odd passages in high school when studying autobiographies... and he wasn’t on her ‘ _Literature through the Ages_ ’ curriculum until next semester...

But at least _one_ of _Tyrion Lannister_ ’s books was on her iPad. How could it not have clicked that she could have used him- _it_ to help her out through the Dragon Age. _Obviously_ he had lived in these times; he had written about the Greyjoy Rebellion and the War of Ice and Fire, not to mention his love for freaking _DRAGONS_.

Faint, the only think Sansa could think to say was, “you must miss him; being so far away.”

His eyes shifted, an odd flicker in his gaze, before he replied, his tone curt, “I assume we shall meet at Summerhall.”

Her heart and scar still numb, Sansa frowned, “ _Summerhall_?”

His eyes flickered to her, before elaborating, “At the tournament; His Grace has announced that it is to be held at Summerhall.”

_Summerhall_.

For the second time in a few short moments Sansa felt her body trip- _or_ really, _spin_ this time.

_Tourney_.

_Summerhall_.

The _Tourney of Summerhall_.

And then the dreams— the _nightmares_ came rushing in... _Dark red banners flapped in the wind, horses parading underneath_... _a boy coughed, clawing at his throat_...... _Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a man wearing black armour_... _A man screeched,_ ‘I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you’ll bring me his head, or you’ll burn with all the rest.’

 

It all whirled together until it all became too much and the visions blurred as the blood rushed to her pounding heart...

... and then all became black.

 

=

 

His pace was already brisk, his boots ringing against the floor, when Stannis heard muffled cries.

Then came the flutter of noise... _of panic_? straight ahead; the direction in which Sansa was supposedly.

Increasing his steps, he swiftly moved through the gardens’ gates, to find one of _his_ sentries – one of those supposedly guarding Sansa – at the other end of the path, _rushing_ towards him.

Stannis nearly tripped on his own foot as he took note of the look of dread and general pallor covering the guard’s face.

When the guard spotted him, his face only seemed to pale further, as his pace quickened. “ _M’lord_... tis her ladyship...”

 

It was then, further into the gardens, that something past the guard that caught his attention.

His brain froze for a moment when he identified Ser Jaime Lannister, looking all knightly and resplendent in his white cloak and gold armor, slightly bent, holding something— _someone_ in his arms, his head staring down at the form.

Even before Stannis’ mind properly took note of the slim figure, the long red hair, he knew, _Sansa_.

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

**END of PART III – King’s Landing**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - ‘She remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They’d each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she’d had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she’d slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn’t, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. [...] _Home. It was a dream of home_.’ – Sansa, _ASoS_
> 
> ** - Sansa’s road/sewer idea is inspired by modern pavements and sewer systems underneath the road.
> 
> *** - Tourney talk greatly inspired by Sansa and Eddard scenes in _AGoT_ :
> 
> ‘The splendour of it all took Sansa’s breath away; the shining armour, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind... and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. [...] “It is better than the songs,” she whispered...’ – Sansa,
> 
> “The king’s tourney,” Ned corrected, wincing. “I assure you, the Hand wants no part of it.” [...] “Call it what you will, my lord. Knights have been arriving from all over the realm, and for every knight we get two freeriders, three craftsmen, six men-at-arms, a dozen merchants, two dozen whores, and more thieves than I dare guess. This cursed heat had half the city in a fever to start, and now with all these visitors... last night we had a drowning, a tavern riot, three knife fights, a rape, two fires, robberies beyond count, and a drunken horse race down the Street of the Sisters. The night before a woman’s head was found in the Great Sept, floating in the rainbow pool.” – Eddard
> 
> *^- Inspired by Stannis’ Proudwing story in _ACoK_ : “One day our great-uncle Ser Harbert told me to try a different bird. I was making a fool of myself with Proudwing, he said, and he was right.”
> 
> ^ - Petyr’s talk about Lysa greatly inspired by Cat and Jaime scenes in _AGoT_ and _AFoC_ :
> 
> “Two babes stillborn, twice as many miscarriages, Lord Arryn’s death... Catelyn, the gods gave Lysa only the one child, and he is all your sister lives for now, poor boy.”
> 
> ‘... she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl who’d waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been. All that remained of her sister’s beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded to her waist.’ - Catelyn
> 
> “Oh, Lysa was not so fearsome as all that.” She had been a pretty girl, in truth; dimpled and delicate, with long auburn hair. Timid, though. Prone to tongue-tied silences and fits of giggles, with none of Cersei’s fire.’ – Jaime
> 
> ^*- Inspired by: ‘Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse.’ – Catelyn, _AGoT_
> 
> ^**- Inspired by: “Her duty.” The word felt cold upon her tongue. “You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?”
> 
> The old knight hesitated. “Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”
> 
> _Fond,_ thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. _I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps._ ’ – Daenerys, _ADwD_
> 
> ^*** - Stannis’ bare feet issue: I'm going by/ inspired on the Middle Ages (and later, during the Regency) 'decorum' that women's feet and ankles were hidden - you were definitely a loose woman/created a scandal if they were shown. Though here maybe not as horrifying and scandalous as in the Middle Ages, feel like/going with it being shocking at the least... especially if it’s a _naked_ foot/ankle - not at all covered - if that makes sense...


	40. PART IV - Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's everyone!
> 
> I would also like to send a massive thank you to all readers for your continual support of this story and your patience. Really sorry it took quite a while to update.  
> I hope you enjoy the start of Part 4 ;)

  

 

**A Tourney at Summerhall**  

 

 

=

 

 

 

Five letters lay on the desk.

One from Ned.

One from his grandson.

The other three were from Lord Arryn, Prince Rhaegar, and lastly, a Royal invitation; however much one could take it as a royal _invitation_.

 

Rickard had broken the seals himself, all still undisturbed when the new maester had brought them to him. Yet, he was certain several (if not all) had been read by other eyes before his own.

The easiest to read - the most straightforward - was the royal letter. It had arrived late the previous evening, having been most likely sent early the day before. The last to arrive, and mostly useless, as the other letters had all already made Rickard aware of the tournament, either in hints or blatantly stating it; _someone will have to teach my young princely grandson subtlety_ — _still, he is but six_.

 

_Jon_.

Rickard held back a smile, thoughts on his grandson and his letter. He could not call the lad anything but Jon. (Just as he could not stop himself from always think of Lyanna whenever her boy was mentioned.) The boy himself had signed ‘ _Jon_ ’, like he did for all his letters to Rickard. It was the name Lyanna had given him, before his dragon-father had changed it to ‘ _Jaenerys_ ’, _‘a more regal name_ ’.

Rickard grunted. No point in informing those damned dragons that there had been a _King_ Jon. King[ Jon Stark](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jon_Stark). [King in the North](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/King_in_the_North) and head of House Stark before the[ War of Conquest](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/War_of_Conquest). There was even a statue of him within the Winterfell crypt.

_But that had been before a fire lit up those winged lizards arses and decided to leave their island_.

No point in thinking of the past dead and gone. Now was the time to plan ahead.

_In this world only winter is certain_.*

 

Rickard looked back his desk. Jon’s letter had been rather innocent; no plots or subterfuge in it. _It was written by a six year old, mind you_. Still, it had undoubtedly been read by his father and most likely also by his (other) grandsire’s spy— _and possibly even that shriveled bag that was the Grand Maester_. The lad spoke of his (half-)siblings and the Dornish princess, of their voyage to King’s Landing, of the young dragon princess ( _though no mention of the other one_ — _the ‘_ other princely dragon’), of Lord Baratheon’s young daughter…

… and of Lord Baratheon’s _young, new wife_.

Lady Sansa Baratheon. Second daughter of Lord Hoster Tully. Seven-and-ten. Motherhouse raised. Like the talk of the upcoming tourney (something Aerys was clearly eager for), both Ned and Arryn’s letters (theses latest ones as well as previous) had mentioned the girl.

The question that plagued him came to his mind once more: _why didn’t Tully given the girl to Brandon_?

Aye, they were waiting for the last Tully chit to have bled and to be a bit older. Bu this one was _seven-and-ten_ ; already of age. Brandon could have married her a year earlier, if not even before. A wedding and bedding at five-and-ten was not unheard of.

The match would have definitely saved on a few headaches.

For one, that whole business with [Ryswell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rodrik_Ryswell), that daughter of his and Brandon. Rodrik’s daughter had only been a passing fancy for Brandon. _—Passing_ lust _rather than fancy, truly_. But that blasted son of his had gone to visit and ‘ _give his regards_ ’ to the Ryswell chit quite a few time. (Infact, Rickard had heard rumours of Brandon perhaps not having fully stopped ‘giving his regards’ to the now-Lady Dustin.) It had been a tiresome few months trying to mollify a furious northern lord and father. (Then again he should have taught that daughter of his to keep her bloody legs _closed_.) Tightening his fist, Rickard remembered when he had suggested a match between Ned and the girl. Like most of the issue, it had been poorly done. His second son had not even replied, Ned had just looked at him square in the eye -not even looking towards his older brother- before leaving the room. _His_ honour and duty had not been the one questioned.

_At least there was no bastard_. Perhaps the girl had been smart enough to drink moontea, though Rickard doubted it. If anything, he could picture Ryswell’s girl trying to get _with_ child, to further push Brandon into marrying her.

_Of course there was also that thing with the Dornish girl_. _There was a bastard from that one._

His mood only souring, he forced his thoughts away from his first born and his liaisons, to return to the Bloody Trout and his possible plotting. Had the blasted fish tried to keep one up on him? Was he even planning on ever letting his youngest daughter marry Brandon?

At least Rickard was rather certain (mainly based on Ned’s previous missives) that Baratheon wasn’t part of this possible plotting.

Still, whatever it was, Rickard didn't like it.

_Blasted Southerners_.

 

He grumbled as he stood up, feeling a headache coming on. Not to mention his legs were starting to stiffen. A walk to the Heart tree would be most welcome. Mayhaps the Old Gods would help as well.

Decided, he rolled the missives back up and put them in one of his hidden nooks in the room. The new maester, _Maester Luwin_ ,  - _new but not that young mind you_ – seemed competent enough. He was definitely intelligent. Rickard was impressed the man had actually bothered to study for the[ Valyrian steel](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Valyrian_steel) link, something he knew only few maesters did. He was also rather relieved that this ‘adviser’ wasn’t as _ambitious_ as Maester[ Walys](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Walys) had been. Yet, none of this mean Rickard could trust him. _Not yet at least_. When an acolyte takes his vows and dons his chain, he supposedly lost his attachment to his old House, but Rickard knew better. This Luwin still had prove to him his attachment was only to House Stark and (second) to the Citadel.

Retrieving Ice from the wall, Rickard let out a low chuckle. Even if the maester proved himself worthy to him, the other man would most likely never see eye-to-eye with [Old Nan](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Old_Nan). In the several months he had already been here, it was clear the maester was skeptical of[ hedge wizards](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Hedge_wizard) and[ the old woman](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Old_Nan)'s stories.

 

The walk between the solar and the godswood was met with several bows and ‘ _milord_ ’s, as well as a brief stop by the training yard, where Benjen had been amongst those sword fighting.

By the time he reached the Heart tree, Rickard’s thoughts were focused his youngest son’s persistent ideas of joining the Night’s Watch. True, it wasn’t a surprising aspiration for the third son of a Northern House. Most would rather stay north or even go south to play knight in tourneys and such (something Brandon mayhaps did _too_ often). It was also true that Benjen, now six-and-ten, had been fighting with live steal for the past two years. But there was a difference training within the walls of a castle and fighting for your life in the wilderness of Beyond-the-Wall. There was also the number of times Rickard had heard talk of the lad visiting to the Winter town brothel. While his youngest didn’t find himself between two supple thighs as often as Brandon, it was more than one would suppose of one aspiring to take the Black.

Sitting down at the root of the tree, a slight grunt left his lips at his less than elegant drop and his still stiff knees, before Rickard let out a long sigh. _By the Old Gods Lyarra, where did I go wrong_?

He had tried his best by her and by their House. And yet, he could only despair for their children. Brandon was more wild than not, only interested in all that was fighting and women. Ned seemed interested in none. Lyanna - beautiful and willful - had run away from her betrothed, only to die before her time**. And now Benjen was convinced he wanted to be a ranger.

 

Both mind and heart in a muck, he started polishing the Stark ancestral greatsword.

 

_Perhaps, I should leave the lad in charge of the keep, while I head down south with Brandon_?

 

The longer he considered the idea, the more it came out a fine notion.

From the ‘ _royal invitation_ ’ had been phrased, it was clear that either him or his heir (if not both) had to go. Either lord or heir of each of the Great Houses (and a quite few lesser but rather important Houses) were required to attend. With the hints and rumours of Aerys unstable, it would not do to for the king to take their absence as a slight at best, or for House Stark to bring much unwanted attention on themselves. In fact, when Rickard had first read the letter, he had wondered whether it was going to be the ‘Great Lion’ or his heir-the dwarf he tried to keep hidden as often as possible- who would end up attending the tourney… Or if Tywin Lannister would risk (further) incurring the king’s ire and suspicion. From what Rickard had heard, the king’s previous Hand (and friend) could not no longer be in the same room as His Grace without all seven of his kingsguard (including Tywin Lannister’s Golden son – his actual first-born son and no-longer-heir) standing between the two men.

Back to his own predicament though, Rickard knew he couldn’t just send Brandon down on his own, even if Ned would be there. _No_ , left him to his own devices, the ‘ _Wild Wolf_ ’ would most likely get the daughter of another lord with child; one not dornish, who would more likely than not demand _more concrete_ reparation. As for suggesting Brandon not go, the hot-blooded fool would go regardless of what Rickard commanded. The appeal of such an event was too great. Rickard couldn't help but hold hope the youngest Tully girl would be there so that Brandon would be able to spend some time with her... All without making a complete arse of himself and their house at the same time. For not the first time Rickard swore he would have killed that daft boy several times over if he wasn’t his own son... and kinslaying wasn’t the most accursed act one could do.

 

_Aye_ , Brandon would go, and so would he.

In fact, it had been over a year since he had seen Ned, and even longer not seeing his grandson. The boy had still been a toddler when he had last laid eyes on him. Small, skinny and light as a feather. And with his mother’s silver-grey eyes. It had also been the last time he had seen his ‘ _son-in-law_ ’. With Ned, Prince Rhaegar and a three-year-old Jon had come to Winterfell, mainly to visit Lyanna’s statue in the crypt. Since then Rickard had received the occasional letter from the dragon (Rickard could only assume, most likely when the prince also sent a letter to his great-uncle at the Wall), in addition to Ned’s and more recently Jon’s letters.

The tournament would also give Rickard the opportunity not only speak with Jon’s father but other of these southern lords. He would also make certain to find out more about this whole business with Tully and his-growing-number-of-daughters.

As for Benjen, the lad would have his first taste of true responsibility in running one's own keep, which hopefully would help dispel ideas of joining the Watch. Or, at least postpone joining until after he married a young lass and had a few pups of his own. The Old Bear had only joined when his son was fully grown and ready to become lord in his place.***

 

Passing the wetted stone over the Valyrian steel once more, Rickard gave another frustrated grunt.

Of course with this first matter resolved,  his focus was required on the great task of preparations needing to be made and others to be informed. It would be key to make sure none took advantage of the absence of both the Lord of Winterfell and his heir.

_In fact_ …

A first idea came to mind. Mayhaps he could suggest the Bolton boy be Brandon’s page? It would get that damned leach-lord off his back, all while allowing Rickard to keep a closer eye on Bolton. And it wasn't like Bolton would refuse the invitation. Only a fool would pass on the possibility to have their son to be page to the heir to the North. And Roose Bolton was no fool. The Lord of Dreadfort at times made Lord Jon - ‘ _The Greatjon_ ’ - Umber look like a tame old mare.

Besides, there was talk of the boy becoming squire to House Redfort in the Vale. The tourney would be but a first taste of what he could expect in the South. And Ned would be there to watch over the lad, and   with tales of his own youth in the South (as well as hopefully appeal the future Lord of the Dreadfort to be more inclined to House Stark).*^

 

Rickard held back a grimace as he thought of another decision that would need to be made soon.

How would they journey South?

Or truly: _Frey or boat_? Neither held any appeal. At least, as much as he disliked travelling by ship, it would shorten the journey by more than half. And it was less likely to attach ( _many_ ) spies on board. Besides, Walder Frey wouldn’t be the only lord that he would to pass by on his way south that would test his nerves ( _that is, even before the tournament started_ ). Whereas if they went by [White Harbor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/White_Harbor), Rickard knew Manderly would have a more than plentiful feast and would good-welcomed company.

_Perhaps I should have pushed a for match between Lyanna and_[ _Wyman_](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Wyman_Manderly) _’s first born_?

With a slight chuckle, he just as quickly changed his mind. The Manderlys would have exasperated his she-wolf daughter with all their thoughts of food—

-A call interrupted the thought from continuing.

Rickard looked to the edge of the grove to see [Cassel](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rodrik_Cassel) coming towards him.

The young captain-of-the-guards^ stopped at a respectful distance from the Heart tree and informed him, “The Visitors have seen beyond the cliffs milord.”

_Ah yes, the newly made Mormont lord_.

Rickard sheathed the great sword. The newest lord of Bear Island had just come from visiting Castle Black. Mainly visiting  his own father, truly; Jeor Mormont had been elected the 997th Lord Commander a year ago, shortly after he had joined the Watch. Taking a large detour, Jorah Mormont had been invited to Winterfell to not only bring Rickard more detailed accounts of the current condition of Night’s Watch from the Old Bear, but actually meet his liege lord properly since coming into his title, all before returning to his island.

Rickard rolled his eyes skyward. No doubt Benjen would have a string of questions for both the lord and the few recruits who had joined on the journey south. He hoped they would give him an honest account on life at the Wall. Though there was a chance this wouldn’t actually deter the boy at all.

Thoughts shifting slightly, Rickard wondered if Jorah Mormont had been informed of the tourney yet. No doubt even the Wall would have heard of it by now, but the last stronghold Mormont would have passed since leaving Castle Black would have been the Last Heath. Ten days away minimum, even with this warmed Summer weather.

With the announcement Rickard was ready to bet several fingers that [Maege Mormont](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Maege_Mormont) would be taking care of things on Bear Island for a little while longer. Jorah Mormont was known to have a taste for tourneys that nearly rivalled Brandon’s.

 

_Well, best get to it_. With the aid of Ice, he pulled himself up. _No point in dawdling all day._ There was subjects to greet, queries to be answered, plans to be made… as well as possible fall-backs.

 

_In this world only winter is certain._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - “ _In this world only winter is certain_.” – ADoD, Borell talking about when Eddard had landed on their island during Robert’s Rebellion
> 
> **- Based on the quote: “Beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” - Eddard Stark, talking about Lyanna to Arya.
> 
> *** - Not sure if came out as clearly as I had hoped but I don't actually see Rickard as being fully against Benjen taking the Black - in fact he knows it could only help the watch and at one point had been truly considered an honor to join. But He wants his son to grow up and live before taking the Black. As for Benjen current age, I based it mostly on the Awoiaf. westeros website where it states he was born in [267 AC](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Years_after_Aegon%27s_Conquest#Year_267_After_the_Conquest) or later, and I decided to go with sixteen (making it so he had been 8 at Harrenhal.
> 
> *^ - Roose Bolton’s heir is Domeric Bolton (not Ramsay). Based on [awoiaf.westeros](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Domeric_Bolton) Domeric is between 8 and 10 in 289AC.
> 
> ^- As it is still only 289AC, I figure that Ser Rodrik Cassel has yet been made the master-at-arms of Winterfell, but is for the moment he’s captain-of-the-guards (a post that will become his nephew’s - Jory Cassel - later on)


	41. PART IV, Chapter 1 - All birds take flight at some point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this chapter – its honestly been bugging me for so long (had quite a lot of it written before the prologue) and yet can’t seem to get it ever quite right so decided to just publish it.
> 
> Hopefully you like it and don’t find (mostly the second part) too weird/strange.

 

 

A raven flew past the window _squawking_ , his big black wings clapping against the evening air, before he settled on the ledge of the balcony leading to Sansa’s chambers.

Elsewise the world was silent.

 

The Grand Maester had come and gone. The maids had attended to their lady, still unconscious, before being dismissed. Neither Edmure, nor Robert’s bastard or Lysa’s girl, had yet been allowed to see Sansa. Only the dog remained in the chambers by his mistress’s bed, guarding her.

After his examination, Pycelle had assured Stannis that Sansa would wake. The maester dismissed the notion that her collapse was due to a pregnancy though. Nor that it was poison. The source was a combination of exhaustion, not having eaten enough... and an _unexpected disturbance_ to her weaker female constitution.

Stannis conceded that, with her recurring night terrors and her wary, drawn-out face the last few weeks, the account was valid enough. Even now, resting in bed, her brow was speckled with fatigue.

However, the reality— _remembrance_ that _his bride_ having been attacked on her journey to Storm's End resonated in Stannis’ mind. Neither the perpetrators nor the reason for the attack – intentional to _her_ specifically or not – had been uncovered... Nor had Lysa’s lover and co-conspirator in Stannis’ intended murder had yet been uncovered. Sansa had been in _his_ castle or under _his_ protection ever since. But King's Landing held far more dangers and spies than the Stormlands; lands he knew far better and had much better control over.

The infrequent mumbles – usual unintelligible - that had passed Sansa’s lips while unconscious didn’t make matters any better either. Only rarely would she whisper-moan an actual word: Stannis could have sworn he had heard ‘ _strangle_ ’...‘ _trident_ ’...‘ _kingslayer_ ’, all were worrying, especially given that he could not make any sense from them, nor could he find any possible link to her attack.

Naturally though, in addition to his anger and apprehensions, Stannis also felt the disappointment and concern seep through him once more, at the confirmation that Sansa was not yet with child. - _Four_ moons, near seven-and-ten weeks, since they had finally consummated their vows and still no seed had taken root.

Stannis would still be speaking with Maester[ Frenken](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Frenken) shortly. His wife had called on the maester yesterday morning and Stannis would know why.

 

With a twitch of his jaw, Stannis broke his gaze from both the bird and the opening to his wife’s rooms. He had spent more than enough time staring towards her balcony and chambers. Just as he had stared more than enough time at Sansa’s limp body being carried, cared for and examined by others, all while he had been forced to stand back and _wait_. None of which had accomplished much on Stannis’ part.

He turned from the window, to face the room. Unfortunately Stannis’ grimace was tempted to deepen when his gaze landed on Ser Jaime Lannister standing at its centre.

Ser [Gerold](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gerold_Hightower), a large man of nearly of same height and build as Stannis, had petitioned to being present when Stannis spoke with his knight, as was his right as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Never had Stannis had been more grateful of being the _Hand_ of the King, reminding the White Bull as much at the request. The older man would have to wait for Stannis to be finished for him to speak with his white-cloaked brother.

_White Cloak_ , Stannis huffed silently as he continued to observe the man in front of him. _More like_ ‘Golden’ _Knight_.

The man was the picture of the chivalrous knight who saves the maiden in the songs...

The image of Sansa – _his_ _Sansa_ – held safely in the knight’s arms burst once more at the forefront of Stannis’ mind. The scowl deepened; both his jaw and fists clenched, if only briefly.

For all his skill, Stannis had always thought Ser Jaime had been too green when first named to the Kingsguard. Even now Lannister seemed too... _young_... and _arrogant_... Everywhere he went he pranced about as if he was better than everyone. He didn’t even have to do anything for the maidens turn their heads and come fluttering. In truth, Stannis was more than tempted for Lannister be one of the kingsguards remaining in King's Landing, while the tournament in Summerhall would be occurring, guarding the younger prince and princess. Regrettably the decision would ultimately be His Grace’s and, while Stannis remembered Ser Jaime having been sent straight to the capital after being cloaked a brother of the kingsguard at Harrenhal, Stannis doubted the final say would be in line with his personal preference this time round.

Stannis spared the briefest glance past the knight, to the back of the room. Standing near the opposite wall, Ser Brynden still looked as grim as before. Unlike Ser Gerold, the Blackfish had not been so easily swayed. Golden pin or not on his chest, the older knight had glared at Stannis, reminding him in a low voice of the words they had spoken at Storm's End, until Stannis had let him see Sansa in addition to being present for his discussion with Ser Jaime.

Further away, leaning against the wall, was Eddard. More in the shadows, his northern companion looked more sombre than usual, a peculiar tightness to his face. Their talk would also wait till later.

 

His eyes returning to the centre, Stannis demanded without preamble, “Ser. Explain how you came to be so close to Lady Baratheon to catch her mid-fall.”

“Most men would thank me for having caught their lady before she injured herself further.”

_The Lannister arrogance_. Stannis felt his teeth grind. He continued to glare until the blonde knight finally gave a slight huff and spoke, “Her ladyship had been in the godswood. _Praying_ , I can only assume. Upon her return, _she_ requested my presence by her side,” the statement finishing with quirk of the mouth, his eyes staring straight into Stannis as if to challenge him. “Ask your own guards if you are _unsatisfied_ by my account.”

_Aye, undoubtedly challenging **me**_. Stannis’ teeth grounded. “Did my wife give a reason for her request?”

“Lady Sansa mentioned something about our fathers being powerful men, yet we knew nothing of each other. She was _eager_ to rectify this negligence.”

_Lady **‘Sansa’**_ _was it?... **eager**?_

“What did she care to know?” Stannis’ words possibly coming out a near growl.

“She enquired on my family. Something about so many lions must have upset her, since she soon became very pale... for then to faint. What knight would I be if I had let her fall and hurt her delicate head or ruin her pretty dress?” The tone came out sounding bored, clearly taking benefit from riling Stannis, and yet Stannis was not incensed enough to miss the faint twitch in the man’s jaw, as well as the brief flicker in his eye when he spoke. _Something_ had unnerved the kingsguard.

“What had you been discussing in relation to your family?”

It was Ser Jaime’s turn to clench his jaw, his gaze squarely on Stannis’. There was a pause before he answered, “She had been inquiring about my brother.”

_The imp_. Stannis blinked. The answer explained Jaime Lannister’s sudden ire. Stannis knew that the knight had a close-protective attachment to his rather ill-fated brother, prone to making any regret saying any insult about his dwarf-brother with him close by. Nonetheless, this shed no light as to Sansa’s reaction. _Surely_ Sansa would not have felt so _distressed_ at the _mention_ of a dwarf.

_No_ , she had seen several during the mummer show, when the Braavosi had visited. In any case, for all her exhaustion and pallor, Sansa was made of tougher stuff than that.

Nor did Stannis see _Sansa_ – his caring and courteous to all (even those who did not deserve her attention) wife – in any way make a disparaging comment to invoke Ser Jaime’s anger, especially about a person she had never met.

“Anything else?”

“She had yet to be informed on the location of the tourney, when I mentioned it... In fact—” the knight frowned, clearly thinking over his conversation with Sansa— _Stannis’_ Sansa. “In fact, recalling the matter, it was the mention of _Summerhall_ – that is; it seemed when I informed her that the tourney was going to be held at Summerhall that Lady Sansa _swooned_ right into my arms,” the knight’s customary smirk returning for the last remark.

Stannis teeth ground further – the man was _intentionally_ antagonising him.

Still, Stannis did not let the knight’s latest goading distract him for the information he had provided.

_Summerhall_.

He turned back to the window, thinking the matter over, only half aware of the Blackfish having taken advantage of his silence to ask a few questions of his own to the Lannister knight.

Stannis wondered if the retinue Sansa had been with had passed by Summerhall to reach Storm's End. He only frowned further at the notion. This would make little sense. He could not think of any route which Summerhall would have been bypassed, by land or sea...

Nevertheless, the possibility was more than troubling if proved true, especially given that the tourney was to be at Summerhall. Stannis doubted returning to the place she was attacked would help his wife’s current constitution. While Stannis took little to no enjoyment at the notion of Sansa being present at the tournament, he was unwilling to leave her in King's Landing – even protected with his own guards - without him. (Not to mention: he still needed his heir.)

 

It was only when he heard the grating smooth-baritone voice of Ser Jaime asking (most likely for not the first time) if he could take his leave that Stannis recalled the others in the room.

As he could not find any other fault in the knight for him to criticise or matter to remark on or ask upon - nor did he have the inclination to look at that eye-sore-inducing golden armour or that irksome smirk any longer without the temptation of marring the man’s face with a hit or two - Stannis merely gave a wave of his hand not brothering to turn back, thoughts still divided and gaze unfocused towards the outside.

 

A _quork_ was heard; another squawk from outside. Stannis peered out to see the same black bird having not moved from its perch—

“ _What do you intend to do now, Baratheon_?”

 

_The Blackfish_.

There weren’t many men that would be so bold as to forget themselves and bypass the fact that Stannis was lord and Hand of the King. While Ser Brynden usually kept to the courtesies, respects and honours due to one’s station evidently the Tully knight was not currently in the mood for indulgence—

“ _My niece_ ; this is the _second_ one we have left in your care? Just as I recall you saying a few words to me, as well as something about putting your pretty black and gold cloak on her shoulders and ‘ _bringing her under your protection_ ’ and whatever other blasted words you spoke in that mausoleum... Undoubtedly, words are wind this far south.”

Stannis’ jaw clenched.

This was not the time or place to mention how his first wife had tried to kill _him_ , only failing by bringing end to her own life, but the man was pushing him further than Lannister had.

Stannis’ gaze snapped from the bird and dark opening to turn and glare at Tully, “You go too far, _ser_.”

“Do I, _my lord_? - Lady Sansa, your _wife_ , is currently unaware of the world around her and has been for nearly a day. For over a sernight there has been a pallor to her cheeks, fatigue under her eyes. Only yesterday, she barely saying anything or eating during out luncheon. Baelish later informed me that her mood did not improve once I left, even when Her Grace and Princess Rhaenys joined; only speaking when spoken to, easily distracted... Whatever you have been doing as of late, _Lord Baratheon_ , it has evidently has not been enough in easing my niece’s troubles.”

His fist tightened at his side, his teeth grinded. At least Stannis now had more of an idea as to where Sansa’s brazenness came from.

“Need I remind you, _ser_ , we are all in King's Landing at His Grace’s _invite_. Trust me when I say I would have both my wife and I back in my castle if it were my choice.”

However, before the blasted trout had a chance to respond to, another voice broke into the conversation,

“ _Ser Tully_ , the motherhouse where Lady Sansa was raised, the one Lord Tully placed her in; where is it located?”

Stannis’s eyes snapped to his oldest companion at the question. Eddard had stood silently in the corner so long that Stannis had nearly forgotten he was there. No longer leaning against the wall, his northern companion was now closer to the pair, staring at Brynden Tully with the oddest look, his brows marred together. Stannis wondered if (in addition to wanting to break the rising tension) Eddard’s thoughts matched his own previous ones as to the issue of Summerhall.

“Ser Stark?”

At the Blackfish’s confused looked, Stannis took the chance to press his own thought, confident that his northern friend’s judgment and concerns resembled his own, “Is there any possibility that Lady Sansa’s voyage to Storm's End passed by Summerhall—that she was attacked there?”

The frown only deepened as Ser Bryden’s gaze went between Stannis and Eddard. He shook his head, “No; the route would not have passed by Summerhall.” His voice was still held with a level of uncertainty in Stannis’ mind when he added, “I see no reason why Lady Sansa would have ever been to or near Summerhall.”

Yet, before Stannis could think of another question to ask, Eddard pressed once more on where the motherhouse had been— _was_ precisely. While Stannis was confused as to why the true location was necessary, he acknowledged that it could has its uses later. In turn, the Blackfish stared at Eddard strangely. The pause was longer than it should have been before giving a reiteration of his account when they had been at Storm's End, “In the Neck, hidden within the marshlands. I believe it is the most northern placed motherhouse in the Realm.”

Stannis could only assume some of the reason it was hidden, in a land less accessible was not only for the safety of the women, but also given the fact that most of the North pray to the Old Gods rather than the Seven.

As for Eddard he only gave the knight a curt nod in response but made no further comment or inquiry.

To which Ser Brynden’s piercing blue eyes (similar yet not as bright as Sansa’s one) returned to Stannis, “So... _my lord_ : Any. Thoughts. As to what do you intend to do now?”

 

 

 

  

=

 

 

 

 

_Darkness_.

There was darkness everywhere. It surrounded her; invaded her, going _inside_ her – in her mind, in her head, in her bones, in her heart...

 

_Dark. Dark. Dark_.

 

... And then it wasn’t.

Not really anyway.

The darkness slowly subsided to mist... A heavy grey mist surrounding her: everything blurred and misty around her, with Sansa unable to see further than right in front of her.

 

Looking down she found herself on a ledge; cold stone beneath her. She looked past the ledge and regretted it just as soon. The ground was so far below her she could barely make it out through the grey haze that grew darker the further down it went. It was a long way down.

_The longer the fall, the harder the hit_. The thought made her shiver—

_You always wake up just before you hit the ground in dreams_ ; another thought in the back of her mind reminded her.

 

_‘Don’t fall. Fly’_ , another voice crowed, not her own this time, startling Sansa.

She looked to her left to see a crow, of same height as her. He stared right back at her as if to say, _yes, I just spoke to you_.

Blinking at it, Sansa found herself remembering the tales Grandpa Ben had told her when she was a child.* _“Crows used to speak_ ,” he had told her, tucking her beneath her bed covers, _“it was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven… but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forgot, and so instead they wrote the messages on parchment—_ paper _that is, and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin_.”* —

‘ _Fly_.’

This crow was definitely speaking. To _her_. It flapped its large black wings impatiently and commanded once more, ‘ _Fly_.’

_Rude much_ , Sansa grimaced (clearly Stannis’ scowls were rubbing on her).

She was about to rebuke that she didn’t have any wings when she realised, looking to her right and left, that she _did_. She blinked several times, before she raised one wing and then the other, inspecting them closely...

Large, black feathers— _not_ her preferred colour to be honest. She would have gone for a light blue. At least they seemed clean enough... and _sturdy_. She bent and flapped one, to repeat the motions a moment later with the other—

‘ _Fly_.’

The bird- _the other bird that is_ , was starting to get on her nerves.

_Well_ , at least it was a less scary dream than most of the ones she had been having recently. Unable to deal with his incessant _quork_ ing any longer, Sansa spread her wings and leapt forward into the mist. If she was going to dream being a bird, might as well make the most of it. Besides: _you always wake up just before you hit the ground in dreams_.

 

The speed of the wind brought tears to her eyes. She could feel the air around her, ruffling her feathers—

‘ _Don’t fall. Fly_.’

Tears in her eyes, half blinding her, Sansa was still able to see the crow flying – _actually_ _flying_ , unlike her – next to her, flapping his wings about like he was so much better than her.

_Oh right_. She gave the wings a careful flap. The wings drank the wind and filled and pulled her upwards. The next moment her trajectory changed; no longer heading straight down ( _falling_ , as the other bird had rightly pointed out) she seemed to have slowed down and going more at an angle. She flapped her wings several more times and she started to rise. And then...

The sky opened up above. Sansa _soared_.

The whole world seemed to be spread out below her, a tapestry of white and brown and green. She could see everything so clearly... everything and everyone in it... She saw King’s Landing like the birds and planes must see it; the tall towers looking short and stubby from above, the castle walls just lines in the dirt.

And yet when she flew down once more, the view seemed to darken in shadow. She saw Stannis looking out his solar’s window, frowning, looking tired, lost and wary. She saw Brynden, on horseback, moving towards the castle’s gates. She saw Edmure consoling a tear-stained Shireen while Edric sat silently in the corner, his face having turned to stone. She was Ned in the training yard slamming at a wooden dummy, his own face etched with pain.

Darkness and shadows spun dizzily around them. One shadow was playing on a harp, singing a song full of pain and sadness, dark blood-red rubies glowing over the span of his torso. Another was armoured like the sun, golden and beautiful, a deep-red sword at his side. Over them both loomed another, looming over the whole city, sitting on a great big chair, green flames surrounding him, all while a shadowed-spider scuttled further into the darkness.

She looked away from them, a shiver running down her spine to the tip of her feathers.

Instead she headed north.

Her gaze caught sight of an island, covered with red-leaved trees. As if they had felt Sansa’s gaze, they seemed to look up, their pale-white trunks now visible: red-tear-stained eyes, all crying, stared back at her knowingly.

She continued on, not sure what to make of the stares or the tears. Thankfully, she found herself happy recognising _actual faces_ in the shadows. She first found Hoster Tully already in bed, tired, looking out to the window to the setting sun, holding his secrets hard in his heart. She saw Cat chatting merrily with her maid as the older woman brushed her hair.

She continued flying North.

She flew until the fog cleared once more, letting her see a fully grown man, who resembled cousin Stann with longer hair and an even easier smile, riding on a horse and laughing, along with a group of other riders. At least he seemed to not have a care in the world.

Not much further, past other fields, huts, forts, another great castle with an adjoining village came into view. She felt like she _knew_ this place. And yet could not quite place it, as it a forgotten memory.

Swooping closer, she saw a teenage version of cousins Jon or Stann practicing with a shiny sword with other boys his age. Older men were about also training, others carrying tools and provisions to and from. At the heart of what Sansa was certain was a godswood, she noticed another man resembling Uncle Creg, his hair also greying but longer, sat upon a rock beside the deep black pool. The pale roots of a heart tree twisted around him like an old man’s gnarled arms. A great big sword lay across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade with an cloth. But it was the great white weirwood tree that pulled her attention. Just like those on the island, it was _crying_ ; crying and staring back at her.

 

‘ _Fly, fly, fly_.’

Sansa let out a curse – _or really_ , a _squawk_. Her whole body jolted, with her wings loosing flight. She had forgotten the stupid bird. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her.

Mostly to get as much distance between her and the bird, she continued to fly further north.

North and north and north, she flew...

Finally she saw the Wall shining like blue crystal. It took her a few moments to realise she had only ever seen it in films or in paintings in books, never in real life;to remember it no longer existed in the 20th Century. It was clearly standing here now, in her dream. As she flew past it to span as far as the eye could see on both sides, seemingly endless.

Past the Wall, there were forests cloaked in snow, frozen shores and great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing appeared to grow or live.

Further north she flew and looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. She looked deep into the heart of winter, and then she cried out, afraid, the heat of her tears burned on her cheeks. There was nothing below her now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace her. They reached out for her, like deadly spears ready impale her.

Fear taking over more than anything else, Sansa spread her wings and flew upward. The terrible needles of ice receded below him. The sky opened up above, and yet she could see not sun or stars or moon—

_The grey mists shuddered and swirled around her and ripped away like a veil_...

 

Sansa’s blinked slowly, her eyes heavy.

Her whole head felt like a brick. Her throat was dry. Her body was warm though, hidden under heavy covers. And her face seemed dry from any possible tears from the strange dream.

The only echo of the dream now was a voice whispering to her: ‘ _In this world only winter is certain_.’ She frowned – or tried to at least – certain she had heard someone else say that to her before.

Nothing else came to mind though.

Sansa tried to move. She tried to get out of bed, but she felt weak and dizzy. She could only move her eyes, slowly, looking around her. In the darkness, she recognised the bed... the room... King's Landing, _yes_ , that was it, she remembered now. Just as she recognised the large form covering her feet and the lower half of the bed: _Darcy_.

However, before she made another attempt to move, with a jolt she noticed something else in the room... _moving_.

Her heart beating faster, Sansa’s heavy, half-lidded eyes could not stop staring at the form as if continued to move within her room.

It was small – child size - barely making any sound. Whoever they were, they seemed to be looking for something. There would be the brief pause every now and then, picking up something, studying it before placing it exactly where it had been... looking at what seemed to be a piece of paper ( _reading it_?) before putting it back both... picking up _her ipad_?...

The motion continued on for several more moments, before he ( _she_?) must have heard something as suddenly, they moved quickly but silently to one of the walls and seemed to disappear within it.

Barely a few seconds passed and the door leading to her solar opened softly, letting in a sliver of light as well as another intruder—a woman holding a small lit candle.

From the little Sansa could make out, this woman was definitely taller and larger than the small form from the darkness. Her movements and steps were soft but not as silent, as well as more certain. Thankfully they also went directly to one of the side tables, for the mystery-person to light several of the candles that had gone out ( _or_ _been blown out_?). With the added light, Sansa was able to take in more of this new person. With relief she recognised her: _Mary_.

Perhaps she felt someone’s gaze on her or perhaps it was because of the worry that was clearly etched on her face, but the next moment Mary’s gaze turned to Sansa’s form in the bed.

When their eyes met, the other woman’s voice hitched for a second before the small wick she had been holding dropped through her fingers. Thankfully it blew out before in hit the floor, because Mary paid it no mind.

She scrambled towards Sansa, her voice a whispered hysterics of ‘ _my lady... my lady... you’re awake... my lady... are you alright_?... _Oh, my lady_...’ all while her hands hovering above Sansa and the bed, as if uncertain she should touch her or not.

As soon as Sansa found enough strength to give a small nod, Mary backed away from her to rush back out the door she had come from.

The next moment Sansa could hear her shouting, “ _She’s awake, her ladyship is awake, she’s awake_.”

 

Unfortunately, the next moment, for all the covers surrounding her, Sansa grew cold.

_Darcy_. Her only concern turned to her overgrown puppy, as the realisation that he hadn’t stirred at all from the hysterical cries sunk-in. Darcy, who was practically as much of a light sleeper as Stannis.

A thousand different thoughts entered her mind. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if whoever had been in the room before Mary had given him something; a sedative or sleeping potion of sorts, or had... had _poisoned_ him...

Eyes on his still unmoving form, she reached out to him, her hand trembling like a leaf.

Slowly and carefully, she let her hand fall on his flank, and ran her hand through his fur – _still warm and_... yes _, a heartbeat_. A small sigh passed her lips, some relief running through her.

The next moment, another door opened, and Stannis burst into the room, breathless.

Sansa couldn’t hold her smile upon seeing him, even though her fears were still there. Her throat sore and dry, her voice croaked out a soft, “ _Stannis_.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - ‘Bran found himself remembering the tales Old Nan had told him when he was a babe.’ / “It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven… but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin.” – Bran, A Dance with Dragons.
> 
> ** - A lot of Sansa’s ‘dream’ (or was it a dream?) was greatly inspired by _A Game of Thrones_ , Chapter 17 – Bran III.

**Author's Note:**

> Note about this story and about Stannis in this story:
> 
> Since in this story Stannis was born first, he doesn’t grow up in the shadow of Robert and, even though he still has a great sense of justice and duty, he is not as focused on slights as in the books/TV show. Also, his friendship with Eddard and being ward in the Eyrie, fostered by Jon Arryn, helped make him more amenable to others as he was growing up. Still has a close relationship with Maester Cressen – especially once he became Lord of Storm’s End (at the age of 14).
> 
> * - Will be mentioned/developed more later in the story but in this alternate universe, Lysa is not only older than Catelyn and Edmure but is by quite a few years (Edmure is more or less the same age, but Catelyn is closer to her brother’s age than her sister’s.


End file.
